CHAPTER THREE

you're not on your own, kid

1993

third year

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, LYRA'S POV

-I-

MOTHER HAS CRIMINALS IN HER FAMILY

"Narcissa!" Lucius's shrill voice echoed through the halls of Malfoy Manor, filled with an urgency that immediately caught Lyra's attention. Her father never raised his voice like this—certainly not when addressing her mother. The rare outburst sent a shiver down her spine, and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Whatever it was, it had to be serious.

"Narcissa? Narcissa, where are you?" Lucius's voice grew more frantic as he moved through the house, his footsteps growing louder with each call. Finally, he entered the dining room, where he found his daughter, Lyra, quietly eating breakfast alone.

"Lyra, where is your moth—" Lucius began, his tone sharp and demanding, but before the girl could respond, a sound behind them interrupted.

Narcissa appeared at the entrance of the dining room, her usual composed demeanor slightly rattled by the alarm in her husband's voice. "Lucius, what is it? What's happened?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Lucius's face was flushed with anger, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I've just received word—do you know what they're saying? Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban!"

Narcissa's eyes widened, her usually calm expression faltering as the shock of Lucius's words hit her. "Sirius... escaped?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, disbelief and fear intertwining.

"Yes, and the entire Ministry is in an uproar!" Lucius continued, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and apprehension. "They're saying he's on the run, that he's coming after those who betrayed you-know-who—and that includes us, Narcissa. I didn't even know he was a death eater and now we may be in danger."

Lyra listened intently, her breakfast forgotten as the gravity of the situation settled over the room. She had heard of Sirius Black before, her mother's cousin. There was love in her voice when she had described the man before but when Lucius spoke of him, only hate and fear was apparent.

Narcissa regained some of her composure, but her voice remained strained. "Lucius, he will not come after us. If he was truly a supporter of You-Know-Who, then he will be after the Potter boy."

"The Ministry is in chaos," Lucius replied, frustration evident in his tone. "They're scrambling to find him, but no one knows where he might be. The Dementors are being deployed to hunt him down, but it's only a matter of time before he makes his move."

Narcissa's mind raced, calculating their next steps. "Do you think it's safe enough for Lyra to go back to Hogwarts?"

At the mention of her name, Lyra looked up at her mother, fear flickering in her eyes. Narcissa quickly moved to her daughter's side, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry, darling," Narcissa said softly, her voice firm despite the fear lurking beneath.

"Yes, you will be safe, Lyra. I think Hogwarts is a safe option, Dumbledore is old, but he can provide her with better protection," Lucius nodded, "I think there's some lines even Sirius wouldn't cross, especially when it comes to family."

As Lucius turned to leave the room, his thoughts consumed by the threat Sirius Black now posed, Narcissa stayed close to Lyra, her protective instincts kicking in.

But as she looked down at her daughter, a sense of unease gnawed at her. Sirius Black was more than just a criminal on the run—he was family, a reminder of the darkness that lurked in their bloodline. And now, that darkness was out there, somewhere, free and dangerous.

"Mama, is this the same Sirius you told me about?" Lyra asked, her voice small.

Narcissa hummed in response, her eyes distant.

"You—you didn't tell me he was in Azkaban." Lyra looked at her mother, confusion mingled with fear. "When you told me about him, you said he was your best friend!"

Narcissa's gaze snapped back to her daughter, her expression sharp. "Yes, and my own sister is in Azkaban too, and the other one hasn't spoken to me in almost fifteen years. Your father was a Death Eater as well. I haven't made the best choices either, Lyra."

Lyra stared at her mother, the weight of those words sinking in. The air in the room felt heavy, laden with the unspoken truths and the burdens of the past. Narcissa's eyes softened as she looked at her daughter, the vulnerability in her own voice surprising even her.

"We all have our mistakes, Lyra," she continued, her tone gentler now. "But we learn from them, and we protect what's most important. That's why we must be careful now. Sirius may have been my friend once, but he may not be that same man anymore."

-II-

BLAISE NEEDS TO SHUT THE HELL UP

Dear Lyra,

I hope you're squeezing every last bit of fun out of the summer before we head back to Hogwarts. Things have been a bit boring on my end, but I've heard some things that might catch your interest.

First off, I'm sure you've already heard about Sirius Black. The whole wizarding world is talking about him. It's hard to believe someone could actually escape from Azkaban, but here we are. They're saying he's after Potter, which isn't surprising considering the stories. I'm sure you will have plenty to say about it, as usual, but personally, I'm more interested in how Dumbledore plans to keep us all safe with Black on the loose. The Ministry's even sending Dementors to guard the school. Wonderful, isn't it? Just what we need—soul-sucking creatures roaming around Hogwarts. Sounds more like a nightmare than a protection plan.

And have you heard about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? I haven't met him yet, but apparently, his name is Professor Lupin. The rumors say he's actually competent, which will be a nice change after that disaster with Lockhart last year. But I have to wonder what kind of person would take that cursed position. I guess we will find out.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to seeing you at Hogwarts. This year should be... interesting, especially with everything that's going on. Just don't get too distracted by certain messy-haired Gryffindors, alright?

Catch you soon,

Blaise

-III-

DEMENTOR-INFECTED TRAIN

The train chugged steadily northward as Lyra Malfoy reclined in her seat, gazing out at the rain-blurred countryside. The gloomy weather matched her mood—a mix of boredom and irritation. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, her ever-present shadows, sat across from her, their large forms taking up far too much space in the compartment. Blaise Zabini sat beside her, flipping lazily through a book, though Lyra doubted he was paying much attention to it.

"Honestly, can't you two find somewhere else to be?" Lyra sighed, casting an annoyed glance at Crabbe and Goyle. They looked at her with blank expressions, clearly not understanding the hint.

Blaise, sensing Lyra's growing frustration, smirked. "You know they're hopeless, Lyra. Wherever you go, they follow."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "Well, I wish they wouldn't. I need a moment's peace without them breathing down my neck."

Annoyed, she stood up decided to take a little walk around the train. Obviously,  her cronies didn't get the hint that she wanted to be left alone and followed her about

As they walked, one the compartment doors slid open. Lyra's gaze snapped toward it, and her expression darkened as she saw who it was. There, standing in front of the seats, was Harry Potter, flanked by Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

"Well, look who it is," Lyra drawled, her voice dripping with disdain. She pulled herself up straighter, adopting a haughty expression that mirrored her mother's perfectly. "Potter and his little gang."

Vincent and Gregory chuckled, their deep, troll-like laughter filling the compartment.

"I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasle," Goyle sneered, her eyes narrowing at Ron. "What did that feel like?"

Ron's face flushed with anger, and he stood up so quickly that a fat orange cat, tumbled from his lap and onto the floor with an indignant yowl. Harry and Hermione both moved to restrain him, but Ron's fists were already clenched, ready for a fight.

A sound drawled from behind Harry, where a figure seemed to be sleeping soundly.

"Who's that?" Lyra said, her voice losing some of its edge as she eyed the man warily.

"New teacher," Harry replied, his eyes not leaving hers. "What were you saying, Malfoy?"

Lyra's pale eyes narrowed further. She wasn't foolish enough to pick a fight under a teacher's nose, especially not with someone as unpredictable as Potter. "C'mon," she muttered, jerking her head at Vincent and Gregory. The two large boys lumbered out after her.

As the train continued its journey north, the rain outside intensified, turning the windows into shimmering, blurry sheets of gray. Lyra, now settled in a different compartment with Blaise, Vincent, Gregory, and Pansy stared moodily out at the downpour. The encounter with Potter had soured her mood even further.

"We must be nearly there," Lyra said, breaking the silence, her voice tinged with impatience. She leaned forward, trying to peer out the darkened window.

"Can't be much longer," Blaise murmured, glancing up from his book. "I'm starving."

"You are always starving," Lyra retorted.

Just as the words left her mouth, the train began to slow down. Lyra frowned, glancing at the others. "We possibly can't be there yet," she said, confused. "Why are we stopping?"

The train slowed further until it came to a jarring halt. The suddenness of the stop sent a few pieces of luggage crashing to the floor, and Lyra felt a momentary surge of irritation as one of her bags tipped over.

"Great," Blaise muttered, getting to his feet. "What now?"

Before anyone could answer, the lights in the compartment flickered and then went out, plunging them into darkness. The only sounds were the hammering of the rain against the windows and the eerie howl of the wind outside.

"What's going on?" Lyra heard Vincent's voice from somewhere nearby. There was a rustling as everyone shifted uneasily in the dark.

"There's something moving out there," Blaise said suddenly, his tone unusually tense. He wiped a patch of the fogged-up window clean and peered out. "I think... I think people are coming aboard."

Lyra barely had time to register his words when the compartment door slid open. A figure stumbled in, tripping over Lyra's feet.

"AH! Sorry—do you know what's going on?" a familiar voice asked in the dark. Lyra recognized it immediately.

"Greengrass," she acknowledged. "What are you doing here?"

Before Daphne could answer, there was a loud hissing noise, followed by a yelp of pain. Lyra's irritation spiked as she realized she had tried to sit on one of her bags.

"Sit down and shut up, Daphne," Lyra snapped, her voice echoing in the dark.

But before anything more could be said, the door slid open once more. This time, instead of another student, an icy chill swept into the compartment, making Lyra's skin prickle with fear. The temperature dropped rapidly, and she felt an unnatural cold seep into her bones, as if the warmth was being sucked out of the very air around them.

"Lyra–" Blaise whispered, his hand reaching out to hold hers. She squeezed it to let him know that she is right there with him.

A figure loomed in the doorway, so tall that it nearly touched the ceiling. It was cloaked in black, its face completely hidden beneath its hood. Lyra's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of the creature. It felt like the very air was being sucked out of the room, leaving her struggling to breathe.

Then, it moved.

A glistening, decayed hand protruded from the folds of the cloak, and Lyra felt a wave of nausea as she looked at it—slimy, grayish, and scabbed, like something that had rotted in water for far too long.

The creature drew in a long, rattling breath, and the cold intensified, wrapping around Lyra like a suffocating shroud. She felt her mind slipping, the world around her fading into a distant haze. A terrible, high-pitched scream echoed in her ears, filling her with an overwhelming sense of dread and despair. It was as if all her worst fears, her darkest memories, were being dragged to the surface, overwhelming her senses.

Just when Lyra was sure she would possibly just faint from the dreadfulness, the figure moved on to another apartment.

"What in Merlin's Beard was that?" Daphne questioned, fear evident in her voice.

"A dementor, Daph," Lyra swallowed. "That was a fucking dementor."

-IV-

LYRA IS WORRIED ABOUT POTTER FOR SCIENTIFIC REASONS

Late that night, the Slytherin common room was dimly lit, the flickering fire casting long shadows on the dark green walls. Lyra Malfoy and Blaise Zabini were seated in front of the fireplace, the warmth from the flames providing a comforting contrast to the cold stone around them. It was nearly midnight, and most of the other students had long since gone to bed, leaving the room quiet and secluded.

Blaise leaned back in his chair, a smug grin playing on his lips as he looked over at Lyra. "You won't believe what I heard today," he began, his voice low and conspiratorial.

Lyra raised an eyebrow, glancing at him curiously. "What?"

"Potter fainted," Blaise said, unable to suppress a chuckle. "Right on the train. In front of everyone."

Lyra's eyes widened, the playful smirk she'd been wearing quickly disappearing. "He fainted?" she repeated, a note of concern creeping into her voice.

Blaise nodded, clearly enjoying the reaction he was getting. "Yeah, passed out cold when a Dementor came aboard. Can you believe that? The great Harry Potter, scared out of his wits."

Lyra frowned, her mind racing. She had seen Dementors before, and she knew how terrifying they could be, but the thought of Potter—of Harry—fainting made her uneasy. "But... is he all right?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost hesitant.

Blaise rolled his eyes, leaning forward to poke the fire with a nearby poker. "Oh, he'll be fine. Potter always manages to bounce back, doesn't he?" He paused, glancing at her with a smirk. "You're worried about him, aren't you?"

Lyra shot him a sharp look, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I am not," she insisted, though the worry in her eyes was hard to miss.

Blaise chuckled, leaning back in his chair again. "Sure, Lyra, sure. Just admit it to me, otherwise we both know I won't let this go. You have the hots for a half-blood Gryffindor."

Lyra huffed, turning her gaze back to the fire, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck. "Don't be ridiculous."

But as Blaise continued to laugh quietly to himself, Lyra couldn't help but feel a knot of anxiety tightening in her chest. The image of Harry fainting, vulnerable and scared, lingered in her mind, no matter how much she tried to push it away.

She wasn't worried— no, of course she was not! She was curious, yes, her mother has always told her she is way too curious for her own good. That is why she wondered why Potter fainted— it was science, not some silly crush.

-V-

LUPIN IS THE FIRST GOOD DADA TEACHER

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom buzzed with a mixture of excitement as Professor Lupin prepared to introduce the third years to their latest lesson. Today, the Slytherins were paired with the Ravenclaws, a combination that often led to a strange blend of rivalry and mutual respect. Lyra Malfoy stood near the back, her arms crossed as she listened to Lupin explain what they would be doing.

Professor Lupin, with his usual calm and collected demeanor, paced in front of the class, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. The room was dimly lit, the old wooden desks casting long shadows on the stone floor. A large, creaking wardrobe stood ominously against the far wall, its doors rattling slightly as though something inside was eager to be free.

"Today," Lupin began, his voice smooth and reassuring, "we're going to be tackling one of the most common dark creatures that you might encounter: a Boggart."

There was a murmur of interest, mixed with a few nervous whispers. Lyra exchanged a glance with Blaise Zabini, who stood beside her, his expression unreadable.

Lupin continued, "Boggarts are shape-shifters that take on the form of whatever it is we fear the most. No one knows what a Boggart looks like in its true form, because it always changes when someone faces it. The good news is that they are relatively easy to deal with—provided you know the right spell."

He flicked his wand, and the word 'Riddikulus' appeared on the blackboard in neat, chalky letters.

"The spell to use against a Boggart is simple: Riddikulus. What makes this spell effective is that it forces the Boggart to take on a form that is amusing, rather than frightening. Laughter is your best weapon."

Some of the students looked intrigued, while others, particularly the Slytherins, seemed skepticaL.

The professor smiled at the class, his eyes twinkling. "We'll be taking turns, one at a time. Remember, the spell is 'Riddikulus,' and your goal is to think of something that will make the Boggart look ridiculous. When you're ready, step forward."

The first student to volunteer was a Ravenclaw boy. The Boggart emerged from the wardrobe, transforming into a towering, menacing troll as it lumbered towards him. The boy raised his wand shakily, and after a few tries, managed to cast the spell. The troll's club turned into a rubber chicken, and it began slipping on banana peels that appeared beneath its feet. The class erupted into laughter, and the Boggart retreated.

One by one, the students faced the Boggart, each with varying degrees of success. A few Slytherins stepped forward with bravado, though some faltered when faced with their worst fears.

As Lyra watched the others, she felt her heartbeat quicken. She hadn't really considered what her own worst fear might be. As the line grew shorter, and it became clear that her turn was approaching, a cold sense of dread settled in her stomach.

Finally, it was her turn. Lyra stepped forward, her hand trembling slightly as she gripped her wand. She could feel the eyes of her classmates on her, and she forced herself to focus on Lupin's calm, encouraging expression.

"Whenever you're ready, Miss Malfoy," he said gently.

Lyra nodded and took a deep breath. The Boggart, sensing its new target, began to shift. The air around it seemed to shimmer and darken, and Lyra's breath caught in her throat as the shape solidified.

Standing before her, towering and imposing, was the unmistakable figure of her father, Lucius Malfoy.

He looked exactly as she remembered him at his most furious—his cold, grey eyes blazing with anger, his face twisted into a sneer of utter contempt. He held his wand in his hand, pointing it at her as though she were nothing more than a disobedient child.

"You've failed me, Lyra," he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "You've brought shame to our name. You're nothing but a disappointment."

The words cut through her like a knife, and for a moment, Lyra froze, her mind going blank. She had known her father could be harsh, even cruel, but to see him like this, to hear those words—it was as if all her worst fears about him had come to life.

"Riddikulus!" she tried to say, but the word stuck in her throat. The Boggart-Lucius stepped closer, his expression growing darker, more menacing. Lyra felt herself shrinking under his gaze, the fear threatening to overwhelm her.

"Come on, Lyra," Lupin's voice broke through her paralysis, steady and encouraging. "You can do it."

She squeezed her wand tighter, forcing herself to focus. She thought of the things that made her father seem less intimidating—his obsession with the family peacocks, his tendency to overreact when the house-elves made a mistake, the ridiculous wig he once wore for a costume ball.

"Riddikulus!" she shouted, and this time, the spell worked.

In an instant, Lucius Malfoy's elegant robes transformed into a garish clown outfit, complete with oversized shoes and a bright red nose. His stern expression melted into one of confusion as he fumbled with a bouquet of flowers that suddenly squirted water all over his face.

The class burst into laughter, and the Boggart retreated, slamming back into the wardrobe. Lyra let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't believe what she had just seen—or what she had just revealed.

"Well done, Miss Malfoy," Lupin said, his voice full of approval as he stepped forward to lock the wardrobe. "That took a great deal of courage."

Lyra nodded, but she barely heard him. Her mind was still racing, grappling with what had just happened. She had known, deep down, that she feared her father's disapproval, but seeing it so vividly, so publicly—it was a shock she hadn't been prepared for.

As the class ended and the students filed out, Blaise caught up with her. His usual nonchalant expression was tinged with concern as he fell into step beside her.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

Lyra nodded, though her thoughts were still jumbled. "Yeah," she murmured, glancing back at the now-closed wardrobe. "I think so."

"Don't worry about it," Blaise said, his voice casual but reassuring. "Everyone's got something they're afraid of. And honestly, it's not surprising, considering your father."

Lyra gave him a faint smile, appreciating his attempt to make her feel better. But even as they walked away, she couldn't shake the image of her father from her mind, or the cold dread that had settled in her chest.

The encounter with the Boggart had opened a door she wasn't sure she was ready to walk through. But one thing was clear—her relationship with her father, and the fear that came with it, was something she could no longer ignore.

-VI-

SIRI, IS GOYLE AN IDIOT?

In the Slytherin common room that morning, Lyra Malfoy was chattering animatedly with Crabbe and Goyle, her voice carrying a hint of excitement. They were all heading down to their Care of Magical Creatures lesson with Hagrid, and while Lyra's companions seemed more interested in causing trouble, she was genuinely curious about the magical creatures they might encounter.

When they reached Hagrid's hut, Lyra noticed that the Gryffindors were already present there. With a sigh, she ignored Blaise's smirk directed at her. Hagrid was waiting at the door, dressed in his usual moleskin overcoat looking eager to begin.

"C'mon, now, get a move on!" Hagrid called out as the class gathered around. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"

As Hagrid led the class around the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Lyra felt a mix of excitement and apprehension. The forest was a place of danger and mystery, and though they weren't going inside, just being near it made her shiver a little. It reminded her of first year, walking alongside Potter in the middle of the night.

Soon, they arrived at a paddock. Lyra peered over the fence, but there was nothing inside.

"Everyone gather 'round the fence here!" Hagrid called. "That's it—make sure yeh can see—now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books—"

"How?" Lyra asked, her voice soft.

Hagrid looked momentarily confused, and then his face fell as he realized what she meant. Lyra pulled out her copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, bound shut with a length of silver ribbon. Others in the class had similarly tied, belted, or clamped their books shut.

"Hasn'—hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?" Hagrid asked, sounding disappointed.The class shook their heads.

"Yeh've got ter stroke 'em," said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. He took Hermione's copy and gently ran a massive finger down its spine. The book shivered and then fell open, lying quietly in his hand.

Lyra watched in fascination as the book calmed down. Hagrid looked at the students, a little sheepish. "Thought it was funny, I did."

Lyra smiled encouragingly, but Crabbe snorted, drawing attention away from her. "Funny?" he said with a sneer. "More like dangerous."

"Shut up, Crabbe," Lyra said quietly, but firmly. She didn't want Hagrid to feel bad.

"Malfoy, get your lackeys in control," Potter rolled his eyes at her.

"God, you really don't know when to stop talking, do you?" said Lyra loudly. 'Get your lackeys in control,' he did realize that she was not their mother, right?

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry repeated.

"Careful, Potter, there's a dementor behind you —"

Hagrid, looking a bit flustered, interrupted the two. "Righ' then," he said, "so—so yeh've got yer books an'—an'—now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I'll go an' get 'em. Hang on..."

He disappeared into the forest, leaving the students to murmur among themselves. Lyra noticed Crabbe and Goyle whispering and exchanging knowing looks. She had a bad feeling about what they were planning, but before she could say anything, Hagrid returned, leading a dozen of the most fascinating creatures she had ever seen.

"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"

Lyra's eyes widened as she took in the sight of the Hippogriffs. They were magnificent, with the bodies of horses and the heads, wings, and talons of eagles. Each one was a different color, and their sharp beaks and brilliant orange eyes gave them a majestic, if slightly intimidating, appearance.

"So," said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer—"

No one moved. In fact, Lyra subconsciously took a step back. The Hippogriffs were tossing their heads and flexing their wings, clearly not happy about being tethered.

"Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' Hippogriffs is, they're proud," Hagrid continued. "Easily offended, Hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do."

Crabbe and Goyle, however, were barely listening. She shot them a warning look, but they ignored her, snickering among themselves. Blaise shook his head at her, asking her not to get involved in their antics.

"Yeh always wait fer the Hippogriff ter make the firs' move," Hagrid explained. "It's polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, an' yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed ter touch him. If he doesn' bow, then get away from him sharpish, 'cause those talons hurt."

Hagrid looked around expectantly, but the class was silent. Even the Gryffindors seemed hesitant. Lyra felt a knot of nervousness in her stomach just looking at the grand creature.

"I'll do it," Potter said, stepping forward.

Crabbe snickered again, but Lyra ignored him, focusing instead on the gray Hippogriff that Hagrid had untethered. It stared at her with piercing orange eyes, and Lyra felt a wave of anxiety, but she remembered Hagrid's instructions. She took a deep breath, walked slowly toward the creature, and gave a short, respectful bow.

The Hippogriff continued to stare at her, and for a tense moment, Lyra thought it wasn't going to respond. But then, to her relief, it bent its front knees and returned the bow.

There was an intake of breath from behind Lyra, where the Gryffindors had gathered, and both Lavender Brown and Parvati Patel whispered, "Oooh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!"

Potter ignored them. He climbed over the paddock fence.

"Good man, Harry!" roared Hagrid. "Right then — let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak."

He untied one of the chains, pulled the gray hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped off its leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath.

"Easy, now, Harry," said Hagrid quietly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink. . . . Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much. . . ."

Potter's eyes were visibly beginning to water, but he didn't shut them. Buckbeak had turned his great, sharp head and was staring at the boy with one fierce orange eye.

"Tha's it," said Hagrid. "Tha's it, Harry . . . now, bow . . ."

The hippogriff was still staring haughtily at him. It didn't move.

"Ah," said Hagrid, sounding worried. "Right — back away, now, Harry, easy does it —"

But then, to Lyra's surprise, the hippogriff suddenly bent its scaly front knees and sank into what was an unmistakable bow.

"Well done, Harry!" said Hagrid, ecstatic. "Right — yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!"

Meanwhile, Crabbe and Goyle had taken over the gray Hippogriff, which had bowed to Crabbe after some initial hesitation. Goyle, however, seemed more interested in making trouble. He reached out and tugged on the creature's feathers, causing it to rear back, flapping its wings in agitation.

Soon enough Potter was going on a ride on Buckbeak, flying away from them, the wind sweeping his hair. Lyra, though annoyed that Potter was at the spotlight, again, had to admit that it was truly a beautiful sight.

"Good work, Harry!" roared Hagrid when the boy came back to the ground. "Okay, who else wants a go?"

Hagrid untied the hippogriffs one by one, and soon people were bowing nervously, all over the paddock. Longbottom ran repeatedly backward from his, which didn't seem to want to bend its knees. Lyra joined Hermione as she practiced on the chestnut.

"It's a beautiful creature, is it not?" Hermione murmured. Though Lyra was offended that the Granger girl did not want her fellow Gryffindors to know that they were friendly, she kept it to herself. This was better than nothing– especially after the way she had treated Granger the year before.

"Absolutely gorgeous," Lyra admitted, "I have always liked su–" The girl was interrupted by the loud, nasty voice of Gregory, who seemed to be, as she had rightly suspected, on his way to cause some trouble or the other.

"This is very easy," Goyle drawled, loud enough for all of the students present to hear him. "I knew it must have been, if puny Potter could do it... I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" he said to the hippogriff. "Are you, you great ugly brute?"

"Stop that, Goyle!" Lyra snapped, stepping forward. "You're going to—"

But before she could finish, the Hippogriff lashed out with its talons, slashing through the air. Lyra instinctively pushed Gregory out of the way, but in doing so, she felt a sharp pain as the talons grazed her arm. She stumbled back, clutching her sleeve as blood seeped through the fabric.

The class erupted into chaos. Hagrid rushed over, his face pale with worry as he wrestled the Hippogriff back under control.

"Lyra!" he exclaimed, his voice thick with concern. "Are yeh alright?"

"Am I going to be fine?" Lyra managed to ask through gritted teeth, though her arm throbbed with pain.

"Yes, yer not dyin'!" said Hagrid, who had gone very white. "Someone help me — gotta get her outta here —"

Goyle muttered an apology, but Lyra didn't pay him any more attention. Hagrid was already at her side, examining her arm with gentle hands.

"Let's get yeh to Madam Pomfrey," he said, his voice filled with guilt. "Should've been more careful—"

"I'm sorry, Hagrid," Lyra said quietly. "It was not your fault."

As Hagrid rushed the girl to the infirmary, she could only hope that her father never found out.

-VII-

FATHER NEEDS TO TAKE A CHILL PILL

Lyra,

What in Merlin's name were you thinking, not informing me immediately after you were hurt? I cannot express the rage I felt upon hearing of your injury from some third party rather than my own daughter! This is unacceptable, Lyra. You are my only child, and it is my duty to ensure your safety. If you were a boy, I am sure such an incident would have never occurred. You must use your brains, Lyra, you are the heir to the House of Malfoy. Such reckless behavior will not be tolerated.

As for that blithering oaf Hagrid and the dangerous creature that attacked you, I am absolutely livid. A creature like that has no place near you, or any student for that matter. Rest assured, I am taking this directly to the Minister. That beast will be put down, and the giant will be held accountable for his actions. I will not have my daughter's life put at risk by the incompetence of Hogwarts staff.

This will not stand, Lyra. I expect you to keep me informed of any further incidents. Do not disappoint me again. I will see to it that justice is done.

Your Father,
Lucius Malfoy

-VIII-

A GRYFFINDOR AND A SLYTHERIN, A POTTER AND A MALFOY

The castle was silent as midnight approached, with only the occasional flicker of torchlight casting shadows along the corridors. Lyra Malfoy slipped through the darkened halls, her footsteps barely making a sound on the cold stone floors. Her hand throbbed painfully, the bandages not quite enough to dull the ache from her injury.

She had tried to tell her father that it wasn't Hagrid or Buckbeak's fault, but Lucius had refused to listen. His anger was unyielding, and his determination to punish those he deemed responsible left her feeling helpless and upset.

She didn't want to be alone, but she needed to escape—to find a place where she could think, away from her father's overbearing anger and the pitying looks of her classmates.

The Astronomy Tower, she decided. It was the one place where she could find solace, where she could be surrounded by the vastness of the night sky, as if it could somehow lessen the weight on her heart.

As she pushed open the door to the tower, she was met with a cool breeze that ruffled her hair and sent a chill down her spine. She stepped out onto the platform, breathing in the crisp air, and leaned against the stone railing. The stars were brilliant tonight, scattered like diamonds across a velvety black sky. They twinkled above her, distant and unattainable, much like the peace she longed for.

She didn't hear the soft footsteps behind her until a voice broke through her thoughts.

"Malfoy?"

She spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. Standing there, barely visible in the dim light, was Harry Potter. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed with something that looked like a mixture of anger and sadness.

"Potter?" she whispered, surprised to see him there. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he replied, his tone sharper than usual. "Shouldn't you be resting in the infirmary?"

Lyra flinched at his words, the accusation in his voice stinging more than she expected. "I couldn't sleep," she murmured, turning her gaze back to the sky.

Harry approached the railing but kept his distance. For a moment, they stood in silence, the tension between them almost palpable.

"It's all your fault, you know," Harry suddenly said, his voice tight with emotion. "Because of you, Buckbeak is going to be killed."

Lyra's breath caught in her throat. She had been expecting this, but hearing it from Harry, with all the weight of his accusation, was almost unbearable. She turned to face him, her eyes wide with hurt. "It's not my fault," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I never wanted this to happen. I've tried everything I could to stop it, but no one will listen to me."

Harry's expression was a mixture of anger and confusion. "Then why didn't you do more? Why didn't you—" He cut himself off, his fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to find the right words.

"I told my father it wasn't Hagrid's fault, or Buckbeak's," Lyra continued, her voice growing stronger as she spoke. "I begged him to reconsider, but he's so angry, so determined to make someone pay for what happened to me. I have written to him multiple times, trying to explain, but..." She trailed off, the frustration evident in her tone. "It didn't make any difference."

Harry stared at her, his anger slowly dissipating as he saw the sincerity in her eyes. He hadn't considered that Lyra might be as trapped by her circumstances as he was. The thought made him feel a little guilty for lashing out at her.

"It's just..." Harry began, his voice softer now. "Buckbeak didn't do anything wrong. He was just defending himself, and now he's going to die because of it."

Lyra's heart twisted at his words. She had always been taught to see magical creatures as tools or obstacles, never as beings with their own rights. But seeing the anguish in Potter's eyes made her realize how much Buckbeak meant to him—and how unfair it was that the creature was being punished for something that wasn't its fault.

"I know," she whispered. "I don't want him to die either."

They stood there, the silence between them no longer heavy with tension, but with shared grief. Lyra wondered if she would ever be able to escape from the mistakes her father made.

"Does your arm hurt?" Potter asked after a long pause, his voice gentle now.

Lyra glanced down at her bandaged hand, the pain a dull throb beneath the layers of cloth. "A bit," she admitted. "But it's not just the pain. It's everything else... my father won't listen to me. My mother hides things from me. I just– I don't know."

Potter nodded. "Why did you come up here?" he asked, his tone curious rather than accusatory.

Lyra sighed, her breath misting in the cool night air. "I just... I needed to get away. To think. My family's been so... intense. And everyone else either pities me or avoids me or they are scared of me. I just needed some space."

"I get that," The boy said quietly. "Sometimes I come up here too, when things get too much."

Lyra looked at him, surprised by his admission. She had always seen Potter as someone who was strong, who could handle anything that was thrown at him, as annoying as it was. But now she realized that he was just as vulnerable as she was, just as human.

"Have you ever felt like you're trapped?" she asked suddenly, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "Like no matter what you do, you can't change anything?"

Harry's eyes darkened. "Yeah," he said softly. "All the time."

They stood there in silence, as the night seemed to stretch on, the stars above them twinkling in the vastness of the sky.

"Potter," Lyra said after a long pause, her voice barely above a whisper, "How much do you know about Sirius Black?"

Harry stiffened at the mention of the man, his mind racing back to what he had learned just a few hours earlier. "What about him?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Lyra hesitated, unsure if she should say anything. But something in the boy's eyes told her that he needed to hear this. "He's my mother's cousin," she said softly. "I've heard stories about him from my family. They say he was different from the rest of the Blacks, that he didn't agree with their beliefs. My mother said he was always kind to her when they were younger, even though he hated the rest of the family."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Sirius was supposed to be family—both to him and to Lyra. It was a strange connection to the girl he once considered evil incarnate, one he hadn't expected. "I just found out he's my godfather," he admitted, his voice shaking slightly. "I didn't know until tonight."

Lyra's eyes widened in surprise. "Your godfather? That means... that means– Oh my God, I can't believe he would do that to your family, to your parents. They must have loved him so much to have made him Godfather. My father always said Sirius was a traitor, that he betrayed your parents, but... knowing he was your Godfather–"

The boy nodded.

"My mother didn't think he would do that to your father, even though she never outright said it," Lyra admitted, "Though she said very little about it, she told me how much Sirius loved your father. Are you sure he did it?"

Harry looked at her, surprised. "You don't think he did it?"

"I did not say that," Lyra shook her head. "Look, I don't know, Harry. But from what I've heard... it doesn't sound like the Sirius Black my mother knew. Maybe there's more to the story than we've been told."

"Do you think he might be... good?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lyra looked at him, her eyes softening. "I think... I think he's someone who made his own choices, who didn't let his family dictate who he should be. Maybe that makes him good. Or at least, better than the rest of them. But I think, he still made bad choices in the end, because he was the one in Azkaban, was he not?"

For a long time, they stood in silence, watching the stars above them. The anger and fear that had brought them to the tower seemed to fade, replaced by a quiet understanding.

"You know, you just called me Harry right now," The boy smiled. He had dimpled, Lyra noticed.

The girl laughed, "Don't get cocky, it is your name, is it not?"

"It is," Harry didn't look at her as he responded, "I just liked you saying it."

"You know," Lyra said after a while, "it's strange, isn't it? That we ended up here, talking like this. I never thought we'd have anything in common."

Harry smiled faintly, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Yeah, it is. But... I'm glad we did."

Lyra returned his smile, feeling a warmth spread through her that she hadn't felt in days. "Me too."

"We could be friends, you know," Harry smiled at her, "In secret, of course."

"Obviously," Lyra nodded, "I can't let people know I am friends with a Gryffindor now, can I?"

Harry laughed.

"I'd like to be your friend," Lyra said softly as she turned to leave. "Thanks for talking, Harry."

"Thank you too, Lyra," Harry replied to the empty air.

-IX-

END OF THIRD YEAR, BYE PROFESSOR LUPIN

The end of Lyra Malfoy's third year at Hogwarts had been a whirlwind of confusion and emotions. As she packed her trunk, preparing to leave the castle that had been both a sanctuary and a source of turmoil, her thoughts swirled with everything that had happened.

There was a sense of unresolved tension hanging in the air, as if the school itself was holding its breath. Everyone had been buzzing about Sirius Black's escape and the sudden disappearance of Buckbeak, but the details were scarce, and Lyra felt like she was piecing together a puzzle without all the pieces.

She had heard rumors in the common room and whispers in the corridors—wild stories about how Sirius Black had been captured, only to vanish into thin air before he could be handed over to the Dementors. Some said he had a powerful ally, others that he was a master of dark magic. But Lyra had her own suspicions, born from the conversation she'd had with Harry Potter on the Astronomy Tower.

Somehow, Harry had been involved in all of this. Lyra was certain of it. She didn't know how, but she felt it deep in her bones. He had a way of being at the center of things, of attracting trouble, and she couldn't help but worry about him, a thought so strange to her. Worrying about Harry, if the other Slytherins were trained legilimens, they would consider her mad. But Harry was a magnet for danger, and he was her friend now. There was yet something more—something that told her this wasn't the end of the story.

As she and Blaise Zabini made their way down to the platform to board the Hogwarts Express, Lyra tried to focus on the more mundane matters at hand. Blaise was in the middle of telling her about his plans for the summer, his usual air of cool detachment firmly in place, though Lyra could tell he was excited about whatever he had planned.

"I've got this new broomstick," Blaise was saying, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm, "the fastest model on the market. We should take it for a spin, see how it handles. Maybe even head down to the coast—my mum's got a place there. It'll be quiet, far from everything."

Lyra smiled, appreciating Blaise's effort to cheer her up. "That sounds perfect," she replied, though her mind was still partially on the events of the past few weeks. "A bit of peace and quiet is exactly what I need."

Blaise gave her a sidelong glance, his expression unreadable. "You've been awfully quiet these past few days, Lyra. Something bothering you?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. "Just thinking about... everything, I suppose. It's been a strange year."

"Strange is one way to put it," Blaise agreed, his voice light. "But that's Hogwarts for you—never a dull moment. Anyway, whatever it is, you'll have the whole summer to sort it out."

They reached the train, and as they boarded, Lyra felt a pang of nostalgia. Despite everything, she would miss Hogwarts—the castle, the grounds, the sense of magic that infused every stone and corner. But she was also looking forward to the break, to the chance to escape from her father's watchful eyes and the pressures of her family name.

As they found a compartment and settled in, Lyra rummaged through her bag, making sure she had everything she needed for the journey. Her hand brushed against something unfamiliar—a piece of parchment that hadn't been there before.

Curious, she pulled it out, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the familiar, messy handwriting on the envelope.

"What's that?" Blaise asked, glancing at the letter.

Lyra didn't answer immediately. She carefully opened the envelope, unfolding the letter inside. As she began to read, her eyes widened, and a rush of emotions flooded through her.

Dear Lyra,

I wanted to write to you before we all head home for the summer. I know you've probably heard a lot of things about what happened, and I wanted to set the record straight.

Sirius is safe. So is Buckbeak. I can't explain everything right now—too many eyes and ears—but I promise you, Sirius is innocent. He didn't betray my parents. He's been trying to get out of Azkaban for years, trying to catch the actual traitor and clear his name, and now he finally has a chance.

I know this year has been hard for you, with everything that happened with your father and everything. But I want you to know that I understand. You didn't want this, and you tried to stop it. That means a lot to me.

I'm looking forward to hearing from you over the holidays. It feels strange to say that, but I'm glad we became friends, even with everything that's happened.

Take care of yourself, Lyra. We'll figure all of this out together.

Your new secret friend,

Harry

Lyra's hands trembled slightly as she finished reading. The letter was so much more than she had expected—so much more than she had hoped for. Relief, gratitude, and a strange warmth filled her chest. Harry was okay. Sirius was okay. And most astonishingly, Harry somehow still considered her a friend.

She read the letter again, savoring every word. For the first time in what felt like ages, a genuine smile spread across her face.

"Good news?" Blaise asked, his tone more curious than before.

Lyra nodded, folding the letter carefully and slipping it back into the envelope. "Yeah," she said softly, meeting Blaise's gaze. "Very good news."

Blaise raised an eyebrow but didn't press her for details. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, stretching out his legs. "So, about that broomstick—are you up for a race?"

Lyra laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. "You're on," she replied, the weight of the past few days lifting from her shoulders. She had something to look forward to now—something beyond the summer.

As the Hogwarts Express began to pull out of the station, Lyra looked out the window, her heart soaring with a new sense of hope.  And as the train carried her away from Hogwarts, Lyra clutched Harry's letter close, knowing that this summer, she wouldn't be alone.