free now

CHAPTER NINE

it all comes down to this

1996

sixth year, pt. two

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, MULTIPLE POVS

-I-

THE LETTER FROM MUM

Dear Lyra,

I hope this letter finds you well, my darling. I hope you are doing well and are focused on your studies. I was quite disheartened to hear that you do not wish to come home for Christmas this year but with everything that going on, I do believe it's a smart decision.

I was speaking with Cassandra Zabini earlier today, and she let me know that you and Blaise haven't been speaking. Cassandra didn't share much, but she seemed worried, and I must admit, so am I. You and Blaise have always been so close—your father and I used to call you the "trouble twins" when you were younger! Is everything all right, love? You know you can tell me anything.

I don't want you to be concerned about matters here at home. There are complexities, of course, as there always are, but your father and I are handling them, and I'm doing everything I can to shield you from them. You're young, Dru; I want you to enjoy these last two years, to savor these days, and to let yourself experience the friendships, laughter, and, yes, even the occasional heartache that come with being your age. These are the memories you'll look back on someday with a smile, and I'd do anything to make sure they're happy ones.

I know you're dealing with many things, and I want you to have someone to turn to. Cassandra mentioned that, despite the distance between you, Blaise has been asking about you. He doesn't talk about it openly, of course—typical of him—but she's noticed. It sounds like, even though he may not be saying it directly, he's still concerned. Don't let a misunderstanding or even a serious quarrel drive a wedge between you if it doesn't need to. Friendships like yours are worth a bit of effort to save, don't you think?

As for us here, things have been rather busy, but your father sends his love and always asks about you. He wishes he could see you more often and worries, even if he doesn't say so outright. You must remember that he truly loves you, as do I. I try to remind him that you're growing up, and you need space to become your own person. But, of course, it's never easy for a parent to truly let go. Even I, who try to stay calm and trust in you, find myself missing you more than I can say.

I'll admit, I've been keeping myself busy with household matters—more so than usual. It keeps my mind occupied. I'm still meeting with friends, of course, Cassandra included, and she keeps me in good spirits. She even hinted that if things go well between you and Blaise, she'd be over the moon. I might have teased her a little over it. My sister is a nuisance, as you have probably noticed so it's good to go out. I truly hope you can figure things out, darling but more than anything, I just want you to feel happy, whole, and supported.

Write me soon, dear, and remember that you're never far from our hearts, no matter where you are.

With all my love,
Mum

-II-

THE TALK WITH DUMBLEDORE

Lyra burst into Dumbledore's office, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she tried to control herself, but the tears were already slipping down her cheeks. The familiar warmth and glow of the room—the soft ticking of ancient magical instruments, the comforting, serene energy that usually filled it—felt mocking now, hollow and wrong.

"Professor!" she choked out, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and pain. "You promised... you promised me that no one would get hurt!"

Dumbledore rose slowly, his blue eyes filled with a quiet sadness. "Lyra," he said softly, gesturing to a seat. "Please, sit down."

She ignored his invitation, too wound up to sit, too furious to hold back. "Katie Bell... she nearly died!" Lyra's voice broke as she said it. She wiped her face, furious with herself for crying in front of him. "And no one was supposed to be hurt! This was supposed to be... to be safe."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Katie will be fine," he assured her. "She is being cared for, and the effects of the curse were mitigated."

"She almost died, and it's my fault. If anyone had to get hurt, it should have been me, not her!"

Dumbledore's expression softened, though his eyes remained sharp. "It was necessary, Lyra, for there to be a spectacle—a signal, of sorts. Professor Snape has already heard from You-Know-Who, and Voldemort was very pleased to learn that you were embracing your task. The plan is progressing, and... so are you."

Lyra's hands shook as she processed this, the notion that Katie's pain was nothing more than a necessary sacrifice cutting into her deeply. "You think this is progress?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, but thick with bitterness. "Is hurting people part of this 'choice' I'm supposed to be making? I thought I could do this without becoming... someone else."

Dumbledore's gaze held steady, though there was a hint of sadness in his tone. "Sometimes, holding onto your morals will come at a cost. You're fighting a battle that is as much within yourself as it is against any external threat, Lyra. No path is without difficulty, and every choice will test who you are. Yet, every choice you make to protect those you love is a step toward becoming the person you wish to be."

"But is this worth it?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Am I still that person? I feel like I'm losing everything that made me different... every time I try to protect someone, I have to hurt someone else."

Dumbledore regarded her for a long moment. "The pain you feel now, Lyra, that questioning of your own morals... is proof enough that you have not lost yourself. These trials will shape you, yes. But they do not have to define you. And remember, my dear—no one can force you to choose this path. It is yours alone to walk."

"It's not about that," she snapped, her fists clenched at her sides. "It's about the fact that anyone got hurt in the first place! I trusted you, Professor. You said I could help, that I could make a difference. You told me that no one would have to suffer for it. I'm not..." She paused, shuddering. "I'm not like him."

The admission seemed to take something out of her. Dumbledore's face softened as he listened, but his expression remained calm and measured.

"Lyra," he began, his tone gentle, "I did not mean for you to be put in harm's way, nor for Katie to suffer. But we are dealing with forces that don't heed promises so easily. The danger is very real, and sometimes, in trying to shield those we care about, we miscalculate. I am deeply sorry for that miscalculation."

Lyra's anger flared again. "Miscalculation?" she spat. "She almost died, and you call it a miscalculation?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Yes. Because my mistake caused you pain and jeopardized the safety of someone innocent." He placed a hand on the desk, looking at her with a compassion that somehow only made the ache inside her worse. "You are brave, Lyra, in ways I know you may not yet understand. You're standing here, questioning the path you've been led down, and that in itself is no small feat."

Her voice softened slightly. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I didn't sign up to hurt anyone, Professor."

Dumbledore sighed. "No, my dear, you didn't. And you are right to question me. I may ask a great deal of you, but I do not have the right to ask you to become someone you are not. If you feel this is not the path you wish to continue... I will not force it upon you."

Lyra let his words sink in, feeling the weight of the choice now resting squarely on her shoulders. The anger hadn't faded entirely, but it was tempered by a new resolve. She wouldn't let anyone else get hurt—especially not for her choices.

"I just... I just don't know if I can trust you again," she whispered, turning to leave. "I just don't know if I can live with this."

"Perhaps living with things that haunt us is the price we pay for saving those we love," Dumbledore said as she walked out of his office.

-III-

AN INVITATION AND A JEALOUS MAN

It was the usual pre-Quidditch chaos in the Great Hall, and Harry was half-listening to Ron and Hermione bicker as he glanced at the bottle of Felix Felicis in his hand. Ron raised his glass, oblivious, but Hermione's voice cut sharply across the table.

"Don't drink that, Ron!"

Both Ron and Harry turned, surprised by her intensity. "Why not?" Ron asked, lowering the glass slightly.

Hermione's eyes were fixed on Harry, her gaze accusatory. "You just put something in that drink."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I saw you," she said, her tone unyielding. "You just tipped something into Ron's drink. You've got the bottle in your hand right now!"

Harry felt a jolt of panic and quickly stowed the small bottle in his pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Hermione's eyes darted back to Ron. "Ron, I'm serious—don't drink it!" But Ron, rolling his eyes, ignored her, downing his drink in one gulp.

"Stop bossing me around, Hermione," he muttered irritably.

Hermione looked scandalized, bending down so only Harry could hear her. "You should be expelled for that. I'd never have believed it of you, Harry!"

"Hark who's talking," he shot back quietly, the tension flaring in his voice. "Confunded anyone lately?"

Hermione bristled, but before she could respond, Harry's attention drifted to a sight at the far end of the Hall. His gaze landed on Neville, who was in a deep conversation with... Lyra? The unexpected sight tightened something in his chest. She was smiling brightly at Neville, her expression warmer than Harry had seen in a long time. Her laughter, carried by the noise of the Hall, drifted to him, light and unburdened.

Harry's fingers clenched around his fork, a wave of irritation building up. But before he could dwell on it, Ginny appeared at his side, breaking his reverie with her friendly smile.

"You coming to the field anytime soon, Harry?" she asked, her tone cheerful, sparking a bit of excitement in her eyes.

Harry forced a smile. "Yeah, I'll be right there," he replied, trying to focus on Ginny instead. She was here, she was uncomplicated, and her company didn't come with a thousand hidden tensions.

He pushed down the sting, reassuring himself as he looked at Ginny's smile. He should focus on her now. At least with Ginny, he wouldn't have to worry about feeling hurt or betrayed.

At least, that's what he told himself as they headed out to the pitch. 

Lyra was just passing the threshold of the Great Hall, keeping her head high and pretending not to notice Blaise's laughter echoing from the Slytherin table as he bantered with Pansy and Nott. She bit her lip, swallowing her irritation as she cast a quick look back at the Gryffindor table, where Harry and Hermione seemed to be in the middle of a low but fierce argument, while Ron drank his pumpkin juice, completely oblivious. She rolled her eyes—typical Gryffindor mess.

Just then, Neville Longbottom materialized out of nowhere, blocking her path. He looked nervous, cheeks flushed as he adjusted his bookbag.

"Mal—Lyra, c-could I talk to you?" he whispered, barely audible.

Lyra folded her arms, looking down her nose at him. "Longbottom, speak up," she teased, arching an eyebrow. "Honestly, you sound like you're confessing to a crime."

Neville's face turned a deeper shade of pink, but he straightened his shoulders, swallowing hard. "Right. Sorry," he mumbled, then cleared his throat and looked her in the eye with a newfound determination. "Okay, um...Lyra, would you...would you go with me to Slughorn's Christmas party?"

The question caught her completely off-guard, and she blinked, feeling the corners of her mouth twitch. "You want me to go to the party with you?" She took a step closer, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "Are you feeling alright, Longbottom?"

Neville's mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but he managed a chuckle, scratching the back of his head nervously. "I, er—yeah, I mean...Look, it's completely unfair you weren't invited. You're one of the top students, and Slughorn's so wrapped up with, you know, his favorites. You deserve to go, and... well, I'd really like it if you came with me."

Lyra tilted her head, considering his words with a newfound interest. It was nice, she had to admit, being thought of, especially after feeling like she'd been out on her own this year. She let her smirk soften into a real smile. "So, you're saying I'm your favorite, then?"

Neville's face went so red she half-expected steam to come out of his ears. "W-what? No! I mean—yes! I mean...um, maybe? Well, not exactly..." he stammered, face crimson, and then gave up with a sigh. "I heard you are not going home for Christmas, and I thought you might enjoy it. You are one of the fewer Slytherins that isn't mean to me on a daily basis."

She glanced down, thinking for a brief moment, but her answer came easily. "I'm not, actually. Going home, that is. So...yes, I'd love to come with you, Neville. And thank you. It's really kind of you to think of me."

His face lit up with relief and a shy smile. "R-Really? That's—that's brilliant! I, um, I'll meet you by the common room doors, then? On the night of the party?"

"Sounds like a plan," she replied, her smile growing as she watched him nod, clearly overjoyed, before he stammered a quick goodbye and walked away.

As he walked away, clearly pleased and more confident than when he approached, Lyra felt an unexpected warmth settle over her.

-IV-

A BOY AND A GIRL THAT ARE BOTH HURT

He found Hermione in the first unlocked classroom he tried. She was sitting on the teacher's desk, alone except for a small ring of twittering yellow birds circling her head, which she had clearly just conjured out of midair. Harry couldn't help but admire her spellwork at a time like this.

He watched Hermione with a mixture of discomfort and unspoken frustration as he took a seat next to her. She had that look on her face—the one that said she wasn't about to let either of them keep things bottled up any longer.

"How did it feel, Harry?" Hermione asked, her tone sharp. "When you saw Lyra with Neville today? When you see her with anyone that's not you?"

Harry's throat went dry. He wanted to respond, to offer something casual, but the words wouldn't come. He felt a hollow ache in his chest, one that had been growing ever since he'd seen Lyra smiling at Neville.

"Um...," he stammered, but Hermione's penetrating gaze stopped him in his tracks. She was soft yet determined, and he knew she wouldn't let him dodge the truth.

"I know," she continued, her voice firm. "I've seen the way you look at her. You've been angry with her, and I know you said you're over everything that happened, that you don't love her. But I know you, Harry. You're my best friend."

He looked down, staring at his hands as if they held the answers he'd been struggling to find. How did she always see right through him? It was true—he couldn't stop thinking about Lyra. He could still hear her laughter ringing through the hall, carefree and bright, as she interacted with Neville.

A familiar rush of jealousy prickled under his skin. He knew Neville didn't know about him and Lyra; if he had, Neville would never have had the nerve to approach her. But Neville didn't know, and that was his right. Harry had no claim on her anymore—not after everything that had happened. 

If the times were different, he would be rather glad that Lyra and Neville were flirting (?). Neville, despite being a shy and clumsy boy had a brave and kind heart. He understood Neville in a way no-one else could. Children of war, forced to grow up without their parents. 

And yet, he couldn't let it go. He still loved her. Despite telling himself otherwise, despite telling her otherwise, he realized he had only buried those feelings shallowly. Every time he saw her with someone else, they resurfaced, relentless and painful.

Just then, as Harry's thoughts were spiraling, Ron burst into the room, accompanied by Lavender, their laughter filling the space. Harry felt a pang of sympathy for Hermione as he noticed her stiffen beside him, her expression falling at the sight of them.

"What's with the birds?" Ron asked awkwardly, oblivious to the tension.

Hermione's face hardened, and with a determined step forward, she pointed her wand at Ron and shouted, "Oppugno!"

Harry watched, half-amused and half-concerned, as a flock of conjured birds shot toward Ron. He yelped in alarm and dashed out of the room, leaving Hermione alone once more. She crumpled back into the chair beside Harry, her shoulders shaking as she broke down in quiet sobs.

Feeling a wrenching empathy, Harry put his arm around her, drawing her close. It felt so strange to be here with her, both of them heartbroken in ways that neither could quite explain.

Finally, he whispered, more to himself than to her, "It felt exactly like this."

It wasn't just jealousy that weighed heavily on him; it was suspicion, confusion, and a desperate need to understand. He remembered the day he'd seen Lyra in the washroom with Katie, his heart racing at the memory. He had approached Professor McGonagall, hoping she could explain it all away, but she had assured him that Lyra had been in detention. Yet, Harry knew what he'd seen—the talk they had afterwards, the look in her eyes, brimming with defiance. Saying she hadn't done anything. She was doing something wrong, he was sure of it.

Could Lyra really be turning towards Voldemort, his greatest enemy? Was she somehow involved in his plots, her sole purpose to distract and wound him? The very thought felt like a punch to the gut. Had she become a Death Eater, not because she had to, but because she wanted to twist the knife deeper?

He buried his face in his hands, the weight of his fears pressing down on him. Could he bear to believe it? That the girl he loved was now in league with the darkest of his fears?

-V-

THE PARTY

Lyra stood outside the Gryffindor common room, nervously smoothing the hem of her dress. The chatter and laughter from within were a stark contrast to her swirling thoughts. She was still processing Neville's invitation to Slughorn's Christmas party and what it meant for both of them. Just as she was about to take a deep breath and step forward, Neville appeared, looking slightly out of breath and just as nervous.

"Mal—Lyra," he stammered, a bright flush creeping up his neck. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, let's do this," she replied, forcing a smile, though her heart raced with a mix of excitement and anxiety. As they walked down the corridor, their footsteps echoed against the stone walls, creating a strange harmony of anticipation.

"So, how's your Gran doing?" Lyra asked, breaking the silence with a friendly smile. She remembered Neville mentioning her during their Herbology classes—how she was a bit strict but cared deeply for him.

Neville brightened at the question, his initial nervousness fading as he spoke about his grandmother. "Oh, she's alright. Still trying to make me a better wizard. She's been on my case about my transfiguration grades lately," he said, chuckling slightly. "I told her I was working on it, but you know how guardians are. Always has high expectations!"

Lyra laughed softly. "I get that. My parents are the same way. Sometimes, it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, right?"

"Exactly!" Neville replied, a look of understanding passing between them. "But she means well. She just wants to see me succeed. Plus, she's really into gardening, so she keeps trying to get me to grow these exotic plants. Some of them are a bit... tricky."

Lyra raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Like what? I've heard some of them can be quite dangerous!"

"Yeah, there's this one called the Venomous Tentacula. We did it in class, once." Neville said, his eyes lighting up as he shared. "It's got these long, thorny vines and can whip you if you get too close. Gran swears it's good for your potions if you handle it right. I'm not too keen on finding out!"

They both laughed, and Lyra felt a warmth spreading through her. Neville was becoming more comfortable around her, his stories coming more easily now. She found his enthusiasm endearing, and it was refreshing to see him open up.

"You should bring me some of your Gran's plants next time," Lyra suggested playfully. "I'd love to have a little Venomous Tentacula in my room. Just for the thrill of it!"

Neville laughed, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I think I'd get in trouble if I brought home anything that might, you know, attack your family. But I'll definitely ask her for some of her safer ones!"

As they approached Slughorn's office, the atmosphere around them felt lighter. They had moved past the initial awkwardness, and Lyra couldn't help but feel a growing fondness for Neville. It was nice to see him so relaxed, and she appreciated the way he made her laugh.

"Thanks for inviting me," she said, glancing at him with a genuine smile. "I'm really looking forward to this party."

"Me too," Neville replied, his eyes brightening as they reached the door. "I think it's going to be fun!"

As they neared the entrance to the party, they rounded a corner and unexpectedly came face-to-face with Harry and Luna. Harry looked surprised, his green eyes widening slightly, and Lyra felt a flutter of something—perhaps nerves or guilt—tighten in her stomach.

"Hey, Lyra!" Luna exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "You look lovely! Are you going to the party too?"

"Thanks, Luna," Lyra replied, trying to sound more cheerful than she felt. "Yeah, Neville and I are just heading there now."

Harry stood beside Luna, shifting uncomfortably. His gaze locked onto Lyra's, and the air between them thickened with unspoken words and awkwardness. She could see a myriad of emotions in his eyes: surprise, confusion, perhaps even a hint of hurt.

"Right," Harry said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Have fun, then."

"Yeah, um, you too," Lyra managed, her voice almost a whisper as she held his gaze for a moment longer than intended. She wanted to say more—to explain—but the words just wouldn't come.

Neville shifted beside her, clearly oblivious to the tension, and stepped forward. "Let's go, Lyra."

As they continued down the hall, Lyra couldn't shake the feeling that Harry's eyes were still on her, and she glanced back just in time to see him looking away, a mix of emotions playing across his features.

"Are you alright?" Neville asked, breaking her train of thought.

"Yeah, just... thinking," Lyra replied, forcing a smile. But her mind was still lingering on Harry, and she couldn't help but wonder what he thought about her being with Neville.

As the party buzzed around her, Lyra felt a wave of disconnection wash over her. Harry and Neville were both swept away by Slughorn, and Luna had followed, leaving her standing alone amidst the laughter and chatter. She glanced around, feeling like an outsider, until her gaze landed on Hermione, who seemed to be hiding in a shadowy corner, her pink dress standing out against the dimly lit room.

"Hey, Hermione," Lyra said, approaching her. "What are you doing all the way over here?"

Hermione looked up, her expression brightening. "Oh, just... observing." She smiled slightly, and they exchanged compliments about their outfits—Lyra in her dark blue dress that contrasted beautifully with Hermione's vibrant pink. For a moment, the tension of the party faded, and they fell into a comfortable rhythm, discussing classes and the latest gossip.

"Honestly, I'm hiding from Cormac McLaggen," Hermione confessed with a roll of her eyes. "He just won't take the hint."

Lyra laughed, picturing Cormac's persistent attempts to flirt. "I can't believe he's still at it. You should just use an curse on him or something."

Hermione chuckled, but then her brow furrowed slightly. "How have you been doing lately, Lyra?"

Lyra hesitated for a moment, her thoughts drifting to the confusion swirling in her life. "I'm fine," she replied, forcing a smile.

Hermione studied her for a moment, then said softly, "You look a bit sick, actually. Are you sure everything's alright?"

"It's just the weather," Lyra replied, brushing it off. But Hermione didn't seem convinced.

"Harry reckons you're up to something, you know," Hermione said, her voice cautious. "I'm his best friend, but I do want to give you the benefit of the doubt."

Lyra's heart sank at the mention of Harry. "Things have just been complicated lately," she admitted, sighing. "I always seem to find myself in the wrong situations at the worst times."

Just then, Harry's voice rang out, calling for Hermione. Lyra's stomach twisted at the sound, and she braced herself as he found them. The atmosphere shifted, and it felt a bit awkward standing there together.

"Lyra, what are you doing here with Neville?" Harry asked, his tone sharp and probing.

"It's none of your business," she shot back, her heart racing. She didn't want to explain herself to him—not now.

Harry frowned, his expression darkening. "Just make sure this isn't some plot to hurt me, alright? Neville is a really good guy."

Lyra's irritation flared, but she fought to keep her composure. "Despite what you think of me, Harry, I don't want to hurt anyone. Not even you."

With that, she turned away, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on her. The laughter and music faded into the background as she quietly slipped out of the party, seeking solace in the quiet of the empty hallway. The chill of the air wrapped around her, a stark contrast to the warmth of the festivities she had just left behind.

Lyra made her way through the winding corridors of Hogwarts, her heart racing with a mix of urgency and apprehension. She had a job to do—one that could change everything. The vanishing cabinet on the seventh floor awaited her, and she had just completed the poisonous Mead that Dumbledore had asked her to place in Slughorn's office. It was a risky plan, but Dumbledore had insisted it would work. If Slughorn were to present the expensive gift to Dumbledore, and it turned out to be poisonous, it would spark a school-wide alert about the attempt on Dumbledore's life.

As she approached the Room of Requirement, her thoughts spiraled with the potential consequences of her actions. She had to finish the vanishing cabinet, and quickly. But just as she rounded a corner, she spotted Argus Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, his cat, Mrs. Norris, trailing closely behind him.

"Malfoy!" he barked, narrowing his eyes as he approached. "What are you doing down here?"

Lyra's stomach dropped. She had to think fast. "I, um... I just got a bit lost," she stammered, forcing a smile. "I was trying to find my way back to the party. I was invited, you know."

Filch's expression hardened, skepticism etched across his face. "A daughter of a Death Eater invited to a school party? I highly doubt it," he sneered, crossing his arms.

"Really, I was invited," Lyra insisted, trying to keep her voice steady. "You can ask anyone. I was just... talking to Hermione and Harry, and then I got turned around."

But Filch was not convinced. "You can't fool me, girl. You've got no business being here, especially not with your family's reputation. Now come with me."

Before she could protest, he grabbed her arm and began dragging her back toward the Great Hall. Panic bubbled inside her. She had to get to the vanishing cabinet—she couldn't let Filch ruin everything.

"Filch, let go of me!" she pleaded, trying to pull away, but his grip was ironclad.

He ignored her, muttering under his breath about the likes of her being in the castle. Lyra's mind raced with plans of escape. She had to think of something—some way to get away from him and finish her task before it was too late.

Filch's grip on Lyra's arm was unyielding as he shoved her back into the bustling party. The laughter and chatter of the students dimmed as he called out, his voice echoing ominously through the big room.

"Professor Slughorn," wheezed Filch, his jowls quivering, the maniacal glint of mischief-detection dancing in his bulging eyes, "I discovered this girl lurking in an upstairs corridor. She claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue her an invitation?"

Lyra felt all eyes on her, heat rising in her cheeks as she scanned the crowd. Harry's gaze locked onto hers, filled with suspicion. Great, just what she needed. She quickly cleared her throat, trying to sound as confident as possible.

"I was invited as Neville's guest," she asserted, her voice steady despite the mounting anxiety.

Neville, standing nearby, fidgeted nervously, stuttering, "Y-yeah! She's with me."

Filch raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Lying won't get you anywhere, Longbottom. You've never been seen with her before. She must be up to something."

"That's all right, Argus, that's all right," said Slughorn, waving a hand dismissively. His cheerful demeanor was a stark contrast to the tension in the room. "It's Christmas, and it's not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we'll forget any punishment; you may stay, Lyra."

Lyra's heart swelled with gratitude as she managed a genuine smile. "Thank you, Professor Slughorn. I appreciate your generosity."

"It's nothing, nothing," Slughorn replied, brushing off her thanks. "I did know your grandfather, after all..."

"He always spoke very highly of you, sir," she quickly interjected, her voice smooth. She hated sucking up to her a who was so wildly infused with gossip. "You were the best potion-maker he'd ever known..."

Slughorn waved away her compliments, clearly pleased but eager to move on. Suddenly, Snape's voice sliced through the festive atmosphere.

"I'd like a word with you, Lyra," he said, his tone curt and unyielding.

"Oh, now, Severus," Slughorn began, hiccuping slightly. "It's Christmas; don't be too hard—"

"I'm her Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be," Snape interjected sharply, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Follow me, Lyra."

The tension in the room shifted as Snape turned, leaving no room for argument. Lyra's heart raced as she cast one last glance at Harry, whose expression was a mix of suspicion and confusion.

In the dimly lit corner of the corridor, the tension crackled between Lyra and Snape. His presence loomed over her, dark and imposing, as he leaned against the cold stone wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"You should have been more careful with your plan, Lyra," he reprimanded, his voice low but filled with an unmistakable edge. "What you attempted was distasteful. Katie could have been seriously hurt."

Lyra felt a familiar frustration rising within her. "I know that," she replied, keeping her voice steady despite the urge to defend herself. "But you know he told me to do it."

Snape's expression hardened, a flash of anger flickering in his dark eyes. "You cannot afford mistakes, Lyra," he said, his tone cold and precise. "If you are expelled—"

"I won't be," she interrupted, desperation creeping into her voice. "I know what I'm doing. We have a plan, I'm just following it. I just... I thought I could handle it."

"You thought," he echoed, the disappointment palpable. "Thinking is not enough. You must act with purpose and caution. Your actions have consequences, and the line you're walking is perilously thin."

"Don't you think I know that?" Lyra shot back, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "I know exactly what I'm doing, and I don't need your help or all your interference."

Snape narrowed his eyes, a hint of incredulity creeping into his expression. "Then why have you been avoiding my office when I've specifically asked you to come?"

"I can handle things in my own way." Lyra crossed her arms defiantly.

"So that's why you've been so insistent? You think I'm afraid of your interference? You realize that had anyone else failed to heed my request like this, they would face consequences, Lyra—"

"So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore! You know I'd get out of it anyway!" she retorted, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"You know perfectly well that I do not wish to do that," he replied, frustration etching lines on his forehead.

"Then you'd better stop telling me to come to your office!" she snapped, the tension in the air thickening.

"Listen to me, I'm trying to help you," he pressed, his tone firm but edged with concern. "I swore to your mother that I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Lyra."

"Looks like you'll have to break it then, because I don't need your protection!" she replied, her voice rising. "It's my job. He gave it to me, and I'm doing it. I've got a plan, and it's going to work; it's just taking longer than I thought!"

Snape's expression softened momentarily. "You don't have to do this alone."

"I'm not doing it alone!" she insisted, her resolve firm. 

"You were certainly alone tonight, which was foolish in the extreme—wandering the corridors without lookouts or backup. These are elementary mistakes—"

"If you have a problem, take it up with the person who wants me to do all of this. He's the one you should be questioning, not me." With that, Lyra turned on her heel, the weight of their conversation hanging heavy in the air, and made her way back to the party.

As she reentered the bustling atmosphere, her gaze scanned the room, but her heart sank when she realized Harry was no longer there. The laughter and chatter around her faded into a dull roar as she searched the faces of her classmates, feeling a pang of unease and confusion settle in her chest. Where had he gone?

-VI-

CHRISTMAS TALKS WITH NEVILLE

Lyra wandered through the empty Great Hall, the festive decorations around her feeling like a cruel reminder of how alone she felt. She spotted Neville sitting at a corner table, pushing his food around with a despondent look on his face. Gathering her resolve, she walked over and took a seat across from him.

"Hey, Neville," she said quietly.

"Hey," he replied, glancing up briefly before looking back at his plate. There was a heaviness in his voice that suggested he was carrying more than just his own burden. "You okay?"

"Not really," she admitted, her throat tightening. "Christmas is... hard. Especially after what happened."

"Yeah." Neville sighed, his expression darkening. "It's tough for me too. With my parents... they can't even remember what Christmas is anymore, thanks to..." His voice quivered with suppressed anger. "Thanks to the Bellatrix and those other bloody death eaters."

"I am sorry," He quipped, after seeing Lyra's expression, "I didn't mean to spoil your dinner. I just– it's what you said. Christmas is hard. Especially now that Bellatrix Lestrange walks freely."

Lyra's heart sank at the mention of Bellatrix. "I get it. I have to live with her."

Neville's head snapped up, eyes wide. Lyra suddenly realized that she had spoken more that she should have. "You... what? What do you mean?"

"Uh, well Bellatrix is my aunt. She has been staying in the Malfoy Manor," Lyra confessed, feeling the weight of her reality crash down on her. "I know how terrible she is. Living in that house... it's like being trapped in a nightmare."

"Why don't you just leave?" Neville asked, confusion mingling with his anger. "You don't have to stay with her."

"Where would I go?" Lyra shot back, her frustration boiling over. "It's not that simple! I thought I could protect Harry, and... and then everything fell apart."

Neville's surprise took a bigger turn. "Whatever do you mean?"

She took a deep breath, the words spilling out as if they had been waiting to escape. "Harry and I... we were together. But when Bellatrix got out of Azkaban, everything changed. Harry broke up with me after Sirius died. He thought I should've done something to stop it. And maybe he was right."

Neville's expression shifted, anger flaring in his eyes. "But–"

"I know. I know I should have told him. I didn't." she yelled, her voice trembling. "I was scared. After that, I went to Dumbledore. I wanted to help. I thought if I could just do something, maybe I could fix it. But Voldemort made me a Death Eater. I had no choice. I had to go along with it to gather information for Dumbledore."

"But that's insane! You didn't want that! You hate it, don't you?"

"I hate everything about it!" Lyra's voice broke, frustration giving way to pain. "I hate living with her, being forced to pretend I'm on their side. Bellatrix is a monster. She's cruel, and she takes pleasure in it. I can't let her win. I can't let You-Know-Who win. I have to protect Harry. I have to make sure he survives this war."

Neville's anger simmered down, "I don't what to say."

"I don't know what else to do," she admitted, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Every day is a struggle. I feel trapped, like I'm suffocating. I can't tell anyone what I'm doing, not even Harry. If he knew... if he knew I was working for Dumbledore, he won't let me do it. Neither will Blaise. You are actually the first person I have talked to about this."

"Lyra, you're doing what you can to make things right. You're fighting against them," Neville said softly, squeezing her hand. "I won't tell anyone about this. You can trust me. You're not like Bellatrix, or your father or any of those death eaters.. You're trying to help. You're brave."

"Promise you won't tell?" she whispered, looking into his eyes, searching for sincerity.

"Promise," he replied, his voice firm.

As they sat in the warm, empty Great Hall, a sense of camaraderie formed between them. For the first time in a long while, Lyra felt a little lighter.

-VII-

"SECTUMSEMPRA!"

It had been a few months since the Christmas party, and now, in the dimly lit sixth-floor washroom, Lyra stood alone, tears streaming down her cheeks. The weight of everything was suffocating. Blaise hadn't spoken to her in ages, leaving her feeling isolated and lost. Katie Bell was still reeling from the incident, and Weasley—Ron was nearly dead from the poisoned mead. The realization that her plan had worked and everyone knew someone wanted to kill Dumbledore did little to alleviate the gnawing guilt inside her. She should have done something; she should have been better.

As she washed her face in the sink, Moaning Myrtle floated nearby, her ghostly figure a stark contrast to Lyra's anguish. "Don't," Myrtle crooned from one of the cubicles, her voice echoing softly. "Don't tell me what's wrong... I can help you..."

"No one can help me," Lyra managed to choke out, her whole body shaking with sobs. "I can't do it... I can't... It won't work... and unless I do it soon... someone could get really hurt..." Her cries became more frantic, and she looked up into the cracked mirror just as Harry appeared behind her, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern.

Panic surged through her, and without thinking, she drew her wand, aiming it at him. "Being in the girls' washroom is creepy, Potter," she spat, letting out a hex. He dodged, jumping behind a cubicle door.

"Lyra! What were you talking about? Who will get hurt?" Harry demanded, his voice tinged with urgency.

"It's none of your business," she shot back, but her words felt hollow. She sent another hex towards him.

"No! No! Stop it!" Myrtle squealed, her voice rising in pitch, making the situation all the more chaotic.

Suddenly, a loud bang reverberated through the washroom, and a nearby bin exploded. In the chaos, Harry tried to cast a Leg-Locker Curse, but it backfired, slamming against the wall and smashing the cistern beneath Myrtle, who let out another shriek.

"Cruci—" Lyra heard herself say, but her vision blurred as Harry, panicking, yelled, "SECTUMSEMPRA!"

The curse hit her with a vengeance, blood bursting from her body as if she had been cut by an invisible blade. She staggered back, collapsing onto the floor, the cold tiles mingling with the warmth of her blood.

"No—" Harry gasped, horror etched across his face. He slipped in the pooling water, struggling to reach her.

"Harry," she tried to reach out her hands. Darkness was filling into her vision. "It hurts, Harry, make it stop."

"Lyra!" he cried, dropping to his knees beside her. She could see the panic in his eyes as he noticed the blood soaking her clothes. "I didn't— I didn't mean to—"

"Har–ry–"

Lyra could barely process his words as she lay trembling in a pool of blood. The sharp pain radiated through her, and she could feel herself growing weaker. Above her, Moaning Myrtle wailed, "MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!"

The door burst open, and Lyra could barely register Snape's furious entrance as he pushed Harry aside. He knelt over her, his expression shifting from anger to urgency. Drawing his wand, he traced it over her deep wounds, muttering an incantation that sounded almost like a song. The flow of blood began to ease under his skilled hands, but the pain still throbbed intensely.

"Please, no more," Lyra whispered, her voice barely audible, the world around her blurring.

As Snape continued his work, Harry's horrified gaze remained locked on her. She was vaguely aware of the fact that he was soaked in blood and water, but her focus was solely on the growing sense of despair within her. The pain subsided slowly but with that came the realization that Harry had done this to her.

Harry had done this to her.

 Myrtle's sobs echoed in her ears, mingling with Harry's panicked breaths.

After what felt like an eternity, Snape performed the countercurse one last time, half-lifting Lyra to a standing position. "You need the hospital wing," he said, his voice a steady contrast to the chaos. "There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately, we might avoid even that... Come..."

Lyra's vision swam as she leaned against Snape for support, Harry's terrified face lingering in her mind. The ache in her chest felt as relentless as the blood still trickling down her skin, but the last thing she saw before everything faded was Harry, his eyes wide with horror and regret, desperately trying to reach her.

Harry had done this to her.

-VII-

THE PRODIGAL BEST FRIEND RETURNS

Lyra stirred awake in the hospital wing, the soft glow of the lanterns casting a warm light over the room. The faint smell of potions filled the air, and she felt an unsettling heaviness in her chest. As her vision adjusted, she spotted Blaise sitting beside her, a worn copy of Wuthering Heights in his hands. He was reading aloud softly, his voice steady and soothing, a stark contrast to the chaos of her recent memories.

"It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,' he answered. 'Kiss me again; and don't let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How–"

Blaise paused mid-sentence when he noticed her stirring. His eyes widened in relief. "Lyra! You're awake!" He rushed to her side, setting the book aside and quickly pouring her a glass of water. "Here, drink this. You've been out for ages. I was worried sick!"

Lyra took the water gratefully, her throat dry. As she sipped, Blaise rambled on, his words tumbling out in a flurry. "You scared me! I thought something terrible had happened to you. You just vanished for so long, and then when you ended up here... I— I just missed you so much. I can't believe you got hurt like this."

But as she listened, her gaze drifted to her arms, one arm that was covered by a white bandaid– probably by Snape to cover her mark and the other one, where a bright scar snaked its way beneath her sleeve, a painful reminder of what had happened in the washroom. Suddenly, the memories flooded back—horrified expression, the feeling of falling, the blood. It all hit her at once, and a wave of despair washed over her. 

Harry did this to her. The person she loved, loved more than anything, did this to her. She had been trying to help him, all this while, and he– 

He hurt her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she grappled with the conflicting emotions swirling within her. The agony of betrayal and hurt felt unbearable, and she cried out, unable to contain the despair.

Blaise's eyes softened, and he immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "It's okay, Lyra. Just let it out," he murmured, his voice gentle and steady. "I'm here. You're not alone."

Lyra buried her face in his shoulder, the warmth of his presence grounding her amidst the storm of her emotions. They didn't need to talk; just having him there was enough. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and reassuring, a reminder that she wasn't as alone as she felt.

After what felt like an eternity, her sobs began to subside, leaving her feeling raw and exhausted. Blaise held her tightly, stroking her hair soothingly. "Promise me you won't ever tell me again that you don't need me around," he said softly, his voice laced with urgency. "Even if you think you can do this on your own, I need to be here. You might not need me, but I need you so much. You are my best friend. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you had died, Lyra."

His words struck deep within her, and she looked up to meet his gaze, seeing the sincerity etched on his face. In that moment, she realized how much he truly cared for her. "I'm so sorry, Blaise," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me," he replied, shaking his head. "You made me worry. A lot. I can't lose you, Lyra. Not like this. You're too important to me."

Lyra felt a lump form in her throat as she searched his gaze. "I don't know what to do," she admitted, her voice trembling.

"We'll figure it out together," he promised, his grip on her tightening. "You don't have to go through this alone. Just let me help you."

Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time they were mixed with something different—gratitude, and maybe a flicker of hope. "Thank you, Blaisey," she said softly. "I really do need you."

"Always," he replied, his smile warm and reassuring. They sat together in the quiet of the hospital wing, the weight of everything still there but a little lighter with each passing moment. For the first time in a while, Lyra felt like maybe, just maybe, they could get through this together.

Harry hurt her.

-IX-

NEW COUPLE ON THE BLOCK

Lyra's heart sank as Pansy shared the news about Harry and Ginny. "Can you believe it?" Pansy gushed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "They kissed after the Quidditch game! It's like a fairy tale or something!"

Daphne Greengrass, who had been listening nearby, chimed in with a smirk, "Oh, please. It's more like a bad romance novel. Everyone knows Weasley's only in it for the fame. She couldn't care less about Potter, really."

Astoria, who had just joined them, rolled her eyes. "I heard about it from Padma Patil. Apparently, they've been flirting for weeks. It's ridiculous. I would say Potter deserves better."

Lyra forced a smile, masking the turmoil within. "Right, because the-chosen-one definitely needs a 'better' girlfriend," she replied with a hint of sarcasm. Deep down, though, it felt like another stab to her already wounded heart. "Who cares about who Potter's dating?"

Pansy continued, oblivious to Lyra's inner conflict. "I just can't believe it! Nothing ever happens here, it's fun when someone else is at least getting some romance—"

Lyra cut her off, her tone sharper than intended. "Maybe it's just Quidditch fever, and they'll get over it."

Astoria raised an eyebrow. "Oh, come on, Lyra. You are not jealous, are you? There's so many boys who want to date you."

Lyra's facade remained intact as she shrugged. "Why in Merlin's name would I be jealous? It's not like it's a big deal."

"Right," Pansy said, clearly unconvinced. "But seriously, I hate Gryffindors but they look cute together. I wonder how long it'll last."

Daphne snorted. "Not long, I bet. She's just after the spotlight, and once Potter sees it, he'll realize he can do better."

"What? Like you?" Pancy retorted.

Astoria sighed dreamily, "I won't lie, he is very cute. Definitely my type."

Lyra felt a tightening in her chest but kept her expression neutral. "Good luck to them, then, what with you all after Weasley's boyfriend. I couldn't care less," she said, but the disdain she feigned did little to mask the heartache building inside her.

As the conversation continued, she felt like an outsider, drowning in a sea of laughter and gossip. She quickly excused herself, needing to escape the weight of their chatter. Harry had moved on so easily, while she was still wrestling with her feelings, guilt, and regret.

He hurt her, again and again. She hurt him, again and again. When will it stop hurting altogether? Making her way to Dumbledore's office, her mind raced with thoughts. How could he move on so quickly?

When she arrived, Dumbledore was waiting for her, his expression serious. "Ah, Lyra. We need to talk," he began, his voice steady.

"What is it?" she asked, her heart pounding.

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "You've finished fixing the cabinet. This is the last step of our plan."

Her stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"

"You must let the Death Eaters in. I need you to come to the Astronomy Tower with them," he explained, his gaze piercing into hers.

Lyra swallowed hard. "You want me to... what? You were serious? You actually want me to let them in?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, his tone unyielding. "It's necessary for the greater good. This is what we've been working toward."

Her stomach twisted again. The weight of what he was asking her to do felt unbearable. "But... after everything that's happened, how can you expect me to do this?"

"Because you are strong, Lyra. Stronger than you know. This is the path you must take," Dumbledore replied gently, yet firmly.

-X-

PROMISES WE NEVER KEEP

Lyra slid into her usual seat in Potions, the room feeling both familiar and strange after a week away. She kept her arm carefully tucked, her sleeve hiding the scar left behind, a reminder she didn't want anyone—especially Harry—to see.

The chair beside her scraped, and she looked over, finding Harry settling in beside her. He looked as if he'd barely slept, his face taut with worry. She instinctively leaned away, but she told herself it wasn't because she was afraid of him. She couldn't be, even if he'd hurt her. She still loved him. After all, everything she was doing—every dangerous choice she was making—was for him.

As Slughorn droned on about the complexities of their final exam, Harry leaned toward her, his voice low and anxious. He seemed desperate, like he'd been rehearsing this for days. "Lyra... I—I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. That day... it was wrong. All of it."

She looked at him, his green eyes wide with regret. He was rambling, stumbling over his words, like he couldn't quite believe he was sitting here, telling her this. She looked down, fingers tracing the edge of her textbook.

"It's okay," she said softly, offering a tentative smile. "I forgive you, Harry."

His brow knitted in confusion, his gaze flickering to her arm, which she'd pulled closer to her body, hidden from his view. "But... after what I did... I mean, I hurt you. Really hurt you."

"Harry," she said, her voice a touch more insistent, her eyes meeting his. "You've apologized. It's okay. I forgive you. Really."

He seemed at a loss, shaking his head. "I just... I don't think you should forgive me that easily. I—I messed up, Lyra." His voice broke slightly, and she could see the anguish there, the weight he'd been carrying since that awful day.

She took a steadying breath and reached across the table to place a hand over his. "Harry, I'm serious. It's okay. It was a mistake... and maybe I was careless, too."

Harry swallowed, looking down at her hand on his. For a moment, it was like everything else in the room disappeared, the tension between them dissipating.

Finally, Lyra broke the silence with a hesitant question. "So... where did you even learn that spell?"

Harry looked up, clearly embarrassed. "It was in an old Potions book I found... full of notes and spells written by someone who called themselves 'the Half-Blood Prince.' I didn't really know what it would do. Not... not like that."

She looked at him thoughtfully, a small idea of who that might have been forming in her mind. "So, you still have this magical mystery book?"

Harry looked sheepish. "Actually, no... I, uh, got rid of it. Thought it was probably for the best."

She smiled, a soft chuckle escaping. "Probably a good call. Merlin only knows what else was in there."

They shared a quiet laugh, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like old times. The comfort of it made her brave enough to ask, "So... you and Ginny, huh?"

Harry's face flushed immediately. He started scratching the back of his neck, clearly flustered. "Uh, yeah... well... it's... I mean, it's not serious or anything. I mean, I don't know, it just sort of... happened."

She smiled, and though it stung, she kept her voice light. "If she makes you happy, that's all I need to know, Harry."

Harry's eyes softened, his gaze lingering on her, but he only nodded. "Thanks. That... that means a lot."

He paused, then added, "What about you and Neville?"

Lyra laughed quietly, shaking her head. "Just friends, Harry. Good friends, but that's all."

"Oh," he murmured, and there was an odd note in his voice, something almost like relief. He cleared his throat awkwardly and glanced away.

As the silence stretched between them, Harry's voice came, soft and hesitant. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

He looked down, his voice barely a whisper. "Why... why were you crying in the washroom that day?"

Lyra felt her throat tighten, the words she'd been holding back for so long finally cracking through. She wanted to lie, to brush it off, to say something that wouldn't break her heart open all over again. But seeing the pain in his eyes, the doubt and regret, she couldn't hold back any longer.

"Harry," she said softly, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I love you. I really do. I don't think I can ever stop."

He froze, his intense green eyes locking onto hers. "Lyra..." he started, then fell silent, looking torn and confused.

"All of this... what I'm doing," she continued, her voice barely above a breath. "You don't have to understand it all. You just have to trust me."

Harry's face twisted, his uncertainty evident. "Lyra... I don't want to doubt you. But, I don't know what's going on anymore. And I hate thinking— thinking that the only explanation for all of this is the worst case scenario."

Lyra let out a shaky breath, eyes never leaving his. "I can't explain it all. Not yet. But please... you have to believe me when I say that everything I'm doing, every choice, it's for you. I would never... I could never betray you, Harry."

His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach for her but stopped himself. "Lyra..."

Her expression hardened, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "Bad things are about to happen, Harry. Things I wish I could stop... but I can't. Not all of it." She took a deep breath, gathering every bit of courage she had left. "I love you. Believe me. It doesn't matter if you don't love me anymore, or what happens next. I'm going to fix this."

The room around them felt like it had melted away, time stretching as they sat there, words hovering between them, unsaid but understood.

They hadn't noticed that time had passed, that Slughorn had finished the lesson, and students had started to pack up. Lyra stood, her fingers brushing the desk as she looked at him one last time.

"Harry! Mate, you coming?" Ron was calling out to Harry. Hermione was watching the two closely.

As she turned to leave, she whispered, "You told me I had to choose, and I did. I'm going to fix everything... or at least die trying."

And then she walked away, leaving Harry alone in the emptying classroom.

It was the last normal day they'd ever have.

-XI-

EVERYTHING GOES ACCORDING TO PLAN

"First, you must let the death eaters out of the cabinet. Then ask them to keep guard for you while you come upstairs to the astronomy tower, alone. I'll tell Harry to hide, and I'll be there waiting for you."

As Lyra stepped through the Vanishing Cabinet, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. A dozen Death Eaters followed her into Hogwarts, spilling out with a dark enthusiasm that she found nauseating. She held back as they spread through the castle, her Aunt Bellatrix embracing her in a tight, sickening hug, her smile wild and frenzied.

"Oh, Lyra," Bellatrix cooed, her voice dripping with pride, "you've done so well. Your father will be so proud."

Lyra forced a thin smile, biting back the disgust that rose in her throat. "Thank you, Aunt Bella. We should be careful, though—Dumbledore is at the Astronomy Tower," she said, her voice measured. "Just make sure to keep the order busy long enough for me to... finish things."

Bellatrix grinned, nodding in approval, and the other Death Eaters echoed her eerie satisfaction. As they disappeared into the hallways to terrorize the castle, Lyra made her way up alone to the Astronomy Tower, her steps measured but heart heavy with dread. She thought of the nights she'd spent here with Harry, wrapped up in each other's dreams, her head resting against his shoulder as they looked out over the grounds below, sharing secrets that no one else could know. It was here that everything between them had begun, and now, she feared, it might also end.

When she reached the top, Dumbledore was already waiting for her, standing beside a faintly glowing second broom. 

"When you see me, the first thing you must do– and this is crucial. You must disarm me."

Lyra drew her wand, forcing her expression to harden as she lifted it, yelling, "Expelliarmus!" Dumbledore's wand slipped from his hand and skidded across the floor, and yet he showed no fear, no sign of panic. His gaze was calm as he looked at her, and his expression held something close to understanding.

"Good evening, Lyra," he greeted her, his voice gentle.

"Bide your time. Let the death eaters get to you and till they arrive, explain the task Voldemort has given you. Be loud, Harry must hear you. He has to feel betrayed."

Lyra stepped forward, eyes darting around to make sure they were truly alone, her gaze falling briefly on the second broom. She swallowed hard, knowing who it was for but pretending not to. She knew where Harry was, just under where they were standing.

"Who else is here?" she asked, her voice quieter, unsteady for a moment.

Dumbledore tilted his head, his eyes still studying her. "A question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?"

"No," she replied, keeping her voice firm, her hand tightening on her wand. "I've got backup. There are Death Eaters in the castle tonight. They're here to help me finish– finish what I started."

"Ah," Dumbledore murmured, his tone soft, as though she were showing him a project she'd been working on rather than acting to commit herself to an act of betrayal. "Very good indeed, Lyra. Ingenious, even. You found a way to let them in, right under our noses."

She nodded, her face remaining as impassive as she could manage while her insides twisted painfully. "I—I did it," she said, her voice wavering ever so slightly. "Right under your nose."

"Ingenious indeed," he repeated, giving her a gentle nod. "And yet... forgive me, where are they now? You seem quite alone."

"They're keeping your guards busy downstairs," she answered, a faint tremor in her voice. "They... they'll be here soon enough." She hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. "I... I came ahead. I have a job to do."

Dumbledore looked at her for a long moment, his expression remaining gentle yet piercing. "Then by all means, Lyra, you must get on and do it."

She swallowed, staring back at him, her hand trembling slightly as she kept her wand pointed. She couldn't help the flood of memories that rushed through her, each one more vivid than the last—Harry's hand in hers, his laughter, his warmth. She knew what this looked like, how it must seem, and she knew she was lying to everyone, including herself. And yet, it was all for Harry.

Dumbledore's voice interrupted her thoughts, gentle yet firm. "Lyra... you are not a killer."

Her head snapped up at his words, an unexpected wave of shame washing over her. He was reassuring her. He was telling her it won't come down to her doing it. She tried to muster anger, indignation, anything to hide her real feelings. "How do you know?" she snapped, forcing her voice to sound harsh and defensive. "You don't know what I'm capable of... you don't know what I've done!"

"Oh, I know very well," Dumbledore replied calmly, his voice soft but unwavering. "You almost killed Katie Bell... Ronald Weasley. You've tried, again and again, to kill me this year. Yet, Lyra, the attempts have been... feeble. So feeble, in fact, that I wonder if your heart was ever truly in it."

Her face flushed, trying to let some form of anger flash through her as she fought back tears. "It was!" she said, her voice coming out sharper than intended. "I've... I've done everything. All year, I've been trying, and tonight—tonight it ends. I... I have to do this!"

"Lyra," Dumbledore said, his tone gentle but unyielding, "You know exactly what has to be done. This is the choice you made."

The words hit her like a slap, and for a brief moment, she struggled to keep her composure. She clenched her jaw, her wand shaking slightly in her hand. "I have no choice. I was given no choice but this."

Dumbledore held her gaze, his eyes filled with an almost fatherly sadness. "There is always a choice, Lyra. I trust you to know that."

Her heart twisted painfully, guilt and fear battling within her. "You have no idea what I'm facing. The choices I've already made... what I've sacrificed."

Dumbledore took a step closer, his voice calm, steady. "I do know, Lyra. I know you've been put in a position no one should have to face. But I believe in you, despite everything. You're stronger than you realize, and you still have time to make the right choice."

"This is the right choice," she smiled at him lightly, so faint, anyone else would have missed it. This was her goodbye to Dumbledore. 

Somewhere in the depths of the castle Lyra heard a muffled yell. She stiffened and glanced over his shoulder.

"They are putting up a good fight," Dumbledore nodded. ""But you were saying... yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school, which, I admit, I thought impossible. How did you do it?"

Lyra starts talking, explaining how she found the vanishing cabinet and found its pair in Borgin and Burkes. She tells Dumbledore loudly how she fixed the cabinet, allowing people to travel into Hogwarts. It was silent, except of her talking. It was almost like she could hear Harry's heart break at her confession.

"A clever plan, a very clever plan. And, as you say, right under my nose."

"Yeah," she replied. "Yeah, it was!"

"But there were times," Dumbledore went on, "weren't there, when you were not sure you would succeed in mending the cabinet? And you resorted to crude and badly judged measures such as sending me a cursed necklace that was bound to reach the wrong hands. Poisoning mead there was only the slightest chance I might drink.""

Lyra snorted theatrically, "Yeah, well, you still didn't realize who was behind that stuff, did you?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," said Dumbledore. "I was sure it was you."

"Why didn't you stop me, then?" she demanded. The death eaters were almost there, she could hear her aunt.

"I tried, Lyra. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders—"

"This is when Harry has to learn that Professor Snape was also on the other side all along. Show your distaste towards him. Let it show that Severus wanted to be the one to complete this task."

"He hasn't been doing your orders, he promised my mother—"

"Of course that is what he would tell you, Lyra, but—"

"He's a double agent, you stupid old man, he isn't working for you, you just think he is!" she snapped at him. 

"We must agree to differ on that, Lyra. It so happens that I trust Professor Snape—"

"Well, you're losing your grip, then!" sneered Lyra. "He's been offering me plenty of help — wanting all the glory for himself — wanting a bit of the action —'What are you doing?' 'Did you do the necklace, that was stupid, it could have blown everything—' But I haven't told him what I've been doing in the Room of Requirement, he's going to wake up tomorrow and it'll all be over and he won't be the Dark Lord's favorite anymore, he'll be nothing compared to me, nothing!"

"Very gratifying," said Dumbledore mildly. "We all like appreciation for our own hard work, of course."

There was a bang and shouts from below, louder than ever; it sounded as though people were fighting on the actual spiral staircase that led to where Lyra was talking to Dumbledore.

"There is little time, one way or another," said Dumbledore. "So let us discuss your options, Lyra."

"My options?" Lyra smiled at him, slightly, "I'm standing here with a wand. I'm about to kill you—"

"My dear girl, let us have no more pretense about that. If you were going tokill me, you would have done it when you first disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means."

"I haven't got any options!" Lyra shook her head, her eyes almost drifting to where Harry was hiding. What was he thinking? Did he hate her? "I've got to do it! He'll kill Harry. He'll kill me. He'll kill my whole family!"

"Harry has to know and believe you joined the death eaters to save him. Then he will have a new form vengeance against Tom Riddle, which will help him down the road."

"I appreciate the difficulty of your position," said Dumbledore. "Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew that you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort realized that I suspected you. But you must realize now that Voldemort will not keep his promise to you. Harry will die anyway."

Before Lyra could say anything, four figures bursted into the Astronomy tower. A lumpy-looking man gave a wheezy giggle. "Dumbledore cornered!" he said, and he turned to a stocky little woman who looked as though she could be his sister and who was grinning eagerly. "Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done, Lyra Malfoy, well done!"

"Once they arrive, all we have to do is wait for Professor Snape."

The cold air of the tower pressed against Lyra Malfoy's skin, a chilling reminder of her surroundings as she faced Dumbledore. He stood there, calm as ever, as though they were meeting for tea rather than in a confrontation with Death Eaters.

"Good evening, Amycus," he said, the same serenity in his tone. "And you've brought Alecto too. Charming."

Alecto's angry little titter echoed through the space, and Lyra felt a flicker of irritation rise within her. "Think your little jokes will help you on your deathbed then?" she jeered.

"Jokes? No, no, these are manners," Dumbledore replied, unwavering.

The atmosphere shifted as the furthest away from Lyra—a big, rangy brute with matted gray hair and a raspy voice—ordered, "Do it."

"Is that you, Fenrir?" Dumbledore asked, and Lyra felt a shiver run down her spine.

"That's right," Fenrir rasped, grinning to reveal pointed teeth. Blood trickled down his chin, and she couldn't help but recoil slightly.

"Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?" he taunted.

"No, I cannot say that I am."

Fenrir's grin widened, his leering gaze fixed on Dumbledore. "But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore."

"Am I to take it that you are attacking even without the full moon now? This is most unusual... You have developed a taste for human flesh that cannot be satisfied once a month?"

"That's right," Fenrir confirmed, his words thick with malice.

Lyra could feel Dumbledore's detestation radiating from him. "Well, I cannot pretend it does not disgust me a little, and, yes, I am a little shocked that you invited him, of all people, into the school where your friends live..."

"I didn't," she breathed, panic tightening her throat. She couldn't look at Fenrir; the last thing she wanted was to engage with him. Go with the plan, she reminded herself, Professor Snape will be here soon.  "I didn't know he was going to come—"

"I wouldn't want to miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore," Fenrir sneered. "Not when there are throats to be ripped out... Delicious, delicious."

Lyra felt a wave of nausea as he picked at his teeth, his yellow fingernails leaving a grim impression.

"I could do you for afters, Dumbledore."

"No," a sharp voice cut through the tension. It was the fourth Death Eater, Bellatrix, her face set in a harsh expression. "We've got orders. My niece has got to do it. Now, Lyra, and quickly."

Lyra was trembling now, her body betraying her with every shake. Her hand hovered over her wand, but she couldn't muster the resolve to aim it. She stared into Dumbledore's face, which was pale, and she felt the weight of the moment crushing her. He shook her head at her. Just wait.

"He's not long for this world anyway, if you ask me!" the lopsided man chimed in, his sister's wheezing giggles echoing beside him. "Look at him—what's happened to you, then, Dumby?"

"Oh, weaker resistance, slower reflexes, Amycus," Dumbledore replied coolly. "Old age, in short... One day, perhaps, it will happen to you. If you are lucky."

"What's that mean, then, what's that mean?" yelled the Death Eater, suddenly violent. "Always the same, weren't yeh, Dumby, talking and doing nothing, nothing. I don't even know why the Dark Lord's bothering to kill yer! Come on, Lyra, do it!"

Just then, sounds of scuffling erupted from below. Lyra's heart raced as she heard a voice shout, "They've blocked the stairs — Reducto! REDUCTO!"

Hope surged through her. They hadn't eliminated all opposition; they'd only pushed through to the top of the tower and created a barrier behind them. The Order was alive.

"Now, Lyra, quickly!" her aunt urged in a hasty manner, her impatience palpable. But Lyra's hand was shaking so badly that she could barely aim.

"I'll do it," snarled Fenrir, his hands outstretched as he moved toward Dumbledore.

"I said no!" shouted her aunt angrily, and there was a flash of light as Fenrir was blasted aside. Lyra's breath caught; it felt impossible that nobody could hear her heart hammering against her ribcage, threatening to expose her position beneath the Cloak.

"Lyra, do it or stand aside so one of us—" the woman screeched, but at that precise moment, the door to the ramparts burst open.

There stood Snape, wand in hand, his black eyes sweeping the scene—from Dumbledore, slumped against the wall, to the Death Eaters, and finally to Lyra.

"You are smart girl. You know what's going to happen next."

"But Professor, you can't just–"

"Die? I fear I must, my dear girl. But do not worry, you won't be the one that will kill me."

"We've got a problem, Snape," Amycus declared, his focus unwavering on Dumbledore. "The girl doesn't seem able—"

But it wasn't Amycus's voice that drew Snape's attention. It was Dumbledore's soft plea. "Severus..."

For the first time, Lyra felt true fear, knowing how desperately Dumbledore needed Snape's help.

Snape stepped forward, as Lyra subtly turned aside. The other Death Eaters retreated, even Fenrir seeming afraid by the man's presence.

Snape's gaze locked onto Dumbledore's, and the lines of coldness etched deep into his features sent a shiver down Lyra's spine. It's all a part of the plan.

"Severus... please..."

In the next instant, Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore.

"You won't be the one killing me, Lyra. Because Severus will."

"AVADA KEDAVARA!"

A jet of green light shot from the end of his wand, striking Dumbledore squarely in the chest. Dumbledore was dead.

Everything went according to plan.

As the chaos erupted around them, the Death Eaters began to flee, their dark robes billowing behind them like shadows in the night. Lyra ran alongside Snape, her heart pounding in her chest, a mix of fear and despair coursing through her veins. Tears slipped down her cheeks, blurring her vision, but she couldn't afford to stop. They had to escape.

The Order was closing in, hurling hexes and curses that whizzed past her like angry wasps. She ducked and dodged, keeping her focus on the ground ahead, but her eyes were drawn to Neville, who stood off to the side. He met her gaze and smiled slightly, a flicker of warmth in the chaos. The brief moment of connection offered her a glimmer of hope, but she quickly turned away, the urgency of their situation pulling her back to the present.

"Keep moving!" Snape barked, his tone sharp as he led the way. Lyra's breath hitched in her throat as they sprinted across the field, the ground uneven beneath their feet.

Suddenly, they heard Harry's voice behind them, frantic and determined, shouting hex after hex in their direction. "Stop! You won't get away with this!" His fury was palpable, and Lyra felt a pang of regret for what they were doing, but she knew there was no turning back.

As they reached the end of the field, the atmosphere shifted. Lyra's gaze was drawn to the far side where she saw Bellatrix standing defiantly, her wand raised high. With a wicked laugh, she hurled a curse that arced through the air toward Hagrid's hut. The moment it struck, flames erupted, consuming the structure in a furious blaze. The fire illuminated the night, casting an eerie glow over everything, and Lyra felt a wave of despair wash over her.

"Run!" Snape urged, pulling her away from the horrific sight. But Lyra's heart ached for Hagrid, for everything they were leaving behind. She forced herself to move, knowing she had to put distance between herself and the destruction.

With every step, she could hear the roar of the flames behind them, a haunting reminder of the chaos they had caused. All she could think of was how far she had fallen from the girl who once believed in a better world.

As they sprinted away from the chaos, Snape suddenly halted, and Lyra followed suit, confusion clouding her mind. Her heart raced as she turned to see Harry rushing toward them, fury etched across his face. She could hear him shouting, "Cruc—" as he aimed his wand at Snape, the firelight illuminating his determined expression.

"Harry, no!" she screamed, but her voice was lost in the chaos.

"Blocked!" Snape shouted, sneering as he deflected Harry's spell with an almost dismissive flick of his wrist. The flames danced around them, and she could hear the anguished yells of Hagrid and Fang trapped in the burning hut.

"No Unforgivable Curses from you, Potter!" Snape shouted over the cacophony. "You haven't got the nerve nor the ability—"

"Incarc—" Harry roared, desperation fueling his voice, but Snape deflected the spell effortlessly, his confidence infuriating.

"Fight back!" Harry screamed, the raw anger in his voice echoing in Lyra's ears. "Fight back, you coward—"

"Coward, did you call me, Potter?" Snape's voice was a sharp retort, filled with contempt. "Your father would never attack me unless it was four on one; what would you call him, I wonder?"

"Stupe—" Harry attempted again, but Snape cut him off, smirking as he deflected the curse once more.

"Blocked again and again and again until you learn to keep your mouth shut and your mind closed, Potter!" Snape sneered, his disdain palpable. "Now come!" he shouted at the hulking Death Eater looming behind Harry. "It is time to be gone before the Ministry turns up—"

"Impedi—"

But before Snape could finish, a piercing pain coursed through Harry, causing him to collapse onto the grass. Lyra's heart sank as she watched him writhe in agony, someone screaming in the background. Was it Hagrid? Was Snape truly going to torture him to death?

"Snape, make it stop! He's hurting!"

"No!" Snape's voice cut through the chaos, and the pain seemed to have vanished as abruptly as it had begun. Harry lay on the ground, panting, clutching his wand.

"Have you forgotten our orders?" Snape shouted, his voice rising above the chaos. "Potter belongs to the Dark Lord— we are to leave him! Go! Go!"

Lyra's heart ached at the sight of Harry, vulnerable and furious. "He trusted you!" Harry screamed, his voice raw with betrayal. "How could you do this to him?" Then his eyes turned to her, and she felt a wave of anger from his side as he sneered, "And you. You betrayed me again and again. You said I could fucking trust you. You are a fucking liar, that what you are. I loved you, more than I ever loved anyone and you fucking betrayed me."

"Harry—" Lyra began, but her words were cut off as he raised his wand.

"Stupefy!" Harry shouted, fury igniting his spells.

Lyra blocked the spell instinctively, her heart racing as she faced him. "If you knew what was good for you, you would leave Harry!"

Harry let out an inarticulate yell of rage, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the three of them. All of the anger and pain spiraled within him, and he staggered toward Snape, who seemed to radiate hatred in the flickering firelight.

"Sectum—" Harry shouted, but Snape was too quick, flicking his wand and sending Harry soaring backward, hitting the ground hard.

Lyra gasped, her heart dropping as Harry lay wandless and defenseless, just as Dumbledore had been. Snape loomed over him, his pale face twisted with hatred, illuminated by the flames.

"You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them— I, the Half-Blood Prince! And you'd turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, would you? I don't think so... no!"

Harry dove for his wand, desperation etched on his features, but Snape's spell sent it flying into the darkness.

"Snape stop!" Lyra cried. "Let's go. It's done. Please let him go."

"Kill me then," Harry panted, his voice devoid of fear, replaced by rage. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward—"

"DON'T—" Snape screamed, his face contorted in anguish, revealing something Lyra had never seen before: raw pain. "CALL ME COWARD!"

In an instant, he struck out, and Harry felt a whiplike force hit him across the face, slamming him into the ground. Spots of light exploded in front of his eyes, and Lyra's breath hitched as she took in the scene around her.

"Snape, stop hurting him! Please–"

But then, above the din, she heard the rush of wings. Buckbeak, that majestic creature, soared toward them, claws extended, and in that moment, Lyra's heart swelled with hope. As Buckbeak flew at Snape, who staggered backward, she knew they had to get away.

"Come on!" she shouted at Snape, "Let's go."

As they ran away, Lyra looked back only once. Harry was staring at Buckbeak as if he was confused and then he turned to face them, who were now far away. He looked small, his figure all crumpled up but on his face there was only anger, screaming at her, "TRAITOR. TRAITOR. TRAITOR."

"I am sorry, Harry," she whispered to the wind as Snape took her away.

The late afternoon sun bathed the garden of Malfoy Manor in a warm golden hue, casting long shadows across the manicured hedges and blooming roses. Lyra stood amidst the vibrant colors, her fingers brushing lightly over the petals, lost in thought. The fragrance of the flowers mingled with the faint, crisp scent of autumn leaves, but her mind was elsewhere, burdened by the weight of recent events.

As she contemplated the tangled web of loyalty and betrayal that had engulfed her life, she heard the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. She turned to see Severus Snape approaching, his expression unreadable as always, but there was an urgency in his stride that made her heart quicken.

"Lyra," he said, his voice low and steady. "We need to talk."