LYRA'S EYES sharply focus on the vial of leech juice in her one hand, the other gently squeezing the pipette to add the correct number of drops to the vial. Finished, she places the half-full vial on its stand, ready when she needs it in a few minutes. She begins chopping the shrivefigs, each the size of her eye and soft enough to slice with ease, into little, thin strings.

"I think you're cutting them too small." Theodore says, eyeing her share of shrivefigs placed to the side, dwindling in number as she slices.

Lyra scoffs, eyes watching her hands. "I think that if you don't mind your business, I'll punch you in the face."

"As if you could reach me."

"You know what-!"

"Lovegood, Nott." Snape appears at their table, just in time, too, because Lyra had a lovely idea involving the knife in her grasp that would lead to her growing old in Azkaban.

"Is there a problem, here?"

"No, professor." Lyra replies respectfully, slightly shaking her head.

Snape's eyes flicker between them, before walking off to a different table.

"No professor." Theodore mocks, shoulders shaking as he chuckles and Lyra doesn't hesitate to harshly whack her hand into his stomach, making him grunt. Snape snaps his head in their direction, and they pretend to be busy with their own brewing until he looks away and Theodore glares at her.

"Real mature, you're such a child." Lyra glares back.

"At least I don't hit like one."

"You literally made a noise when I hit you, what are you talking about?"

"I play quidditch, smartass. I get bruises."

"Whatever, Nott, I'm trying to concentrate and you're distracting me-"

"I distract you?" He didn't mean to say it out loud and Lyra picks up on that.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Theodore says nothing, looking down at his own ingredients and ignoring her curious eyes. He really did not mean to say the thought verbally so she can hear it.

Theodore wants to tell her that for the past forty minutes of potions she has been his biggest distraction. He is slower as his mind keeps drifting to her presence no matter how much he tries to drag it back. He wants to tell her that before, he could just look up and see the back of her head and still focus on his tasks. He wants to tell her that now that they stand almost shoulder to shoulder, every narrow of her eyes as she pays extra attention to a step in the instructions, every smile she smiles when the potion turns the right color or when Wren pulls a face at her from across the room. Every second she innocently brushes his arm as she moves or the divine smell of her vanilla perfume that he has never been close enough to fall weak too until now - they drive him crazy.

He can't focus for the life of him and from the way Snape looked at him earlier, he knew too. He can't tell her any of this because firstly, she does not feel the same way, and secondly, he is sure she'd think he's lying.

After all, they're 'rivals'.

As happy as he is to have this opportunity to be around her more, he slightly regrets the last-minute charm he muttered to forge his name and hers together on the list because now Theodore needs to try really hard to not flunk their practicals in class, like this one they're doing now.

Lyra, adorably oblivious Lyra, is still at her best, clearly not suffering like he is. But is it really suffering if he enjoys it?

He sees from the corner of his eye as she rolls hers, clearly not appreciating his choice to ignore her. She carries on with her potion, tying her hair into a ponytail and Theodore catches her sharp jawline and another whiff of her perfume.

For fucks sakes

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

"With your partner, you will write an essay about a potion of your choice from the list I will give you. Strictly from the list and five parchments long. Single paged. Properties, ingredients, time to brew and method, if the ingredients were grown or kept under any specific conditions before use, reasons for ingredients, use of potion, et cetera. You may use resources from the library. It must be in by next Monday and if any of you fail to do so or hand in inadequate work, you can expect detention for the next week." Snape says as they near the hour mark, the end of the lesson.

He flicks his hand holding his wand, making the lists appear on all of their desks. "Dismissed."

Lyra notices they each got their own, no sharing between pairs, probably because he knows many students will lose theirs. She reads the options carefully and she recognizes all of them, she just needs to brush up on them to decide which to write her essay on.

Theodore clears his throat from beside her. Did he know she forgot it was partner work? It's their essay, not hers and they need to work together to get the best grade. Lyra has a feeling Snape will know if anyone works alone so the working separately idea is out the window.

Lyra quickly folds the list up and slips it in between the pages of her book before looking up at him. "We start tomorrow, before dinner and the champion ceremony -"

"Before you start bossing me around, I need to point out that I have quidditch practice after school tomorrow and Friday. From 5 to 6." He tells her as he packs his things away.

Lyra rolls her eyes again. "Fine. Then we meet at half six at the front desk in the library and work until dinner at eight." She hoists her school bag on her shoulder and shoots him a look. "Do not be late."

Lyra turns away without waiting to hear his response because to her, the conversation is finished. To him, not so much because she hears him follow her out the door and into the bright passage.

"I know you, Lovegood, so I'm telling you now to not start this without me."

She stops walking and looks up at him, annoyed, because she did plan on checking the required books out the library tonight to get a head start. Can he read her mind? He is far too young to have mastered the skill of Legilimency so what is it? This just makes her dislike the Slytherin more.

"Thought so." Theodore looks down at her. "Try not to be overbearing tomorrow, I know you're going to take this project too seriously."

"Too seriously?" Lyra echos in disbelief. "It's for our final grade!"

This, this is what gets to her about Theodore Nott. He doesn't care nearly as much as she does about their grades, but he still rivals her academic intellect. No one this calm about a project going towards their reports should be partnered with Lyra Lovegood. She might go bald from the amount of times Theodore makes her want to rip her hair out.

"I'm aware." Theodore brushes her hysteria off. "And I've watched you study before, Lovegood. It's like watching you slowly progress into a clinically mental person."

Lyra frowns at the last part of his statement. "Come off it. I do not look like a mental person when I study." She crosses her arms defensively.

"Clinically mental person." He corrects her, smirking. Before she could argue further, he walks away.

Lyra glares at his back. "Prick."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

"Alastor Moody. Ex-Auror. Ministry malcontent and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Professor Moody finishes writing on the board before throwing the chalk carelessly behind him and facing the class. "I am here because Dumbledore asked me. End of story, goodbye, the end. Any questions?"

Lyra and Wren share a look with each other, the latter trying not to laugh as everyone stays dead silent.

It is the last period of that Wednesday afternoon and the Gryffindors and Slytherins had Defense Against the Dark Arts. At lunch, Fred and George couldn't stop talking about how wicked the new teacher is, demented, but wicked.

He looks demented to Lyra.

His hair, what's left of it, is a fading orange and his face is set into a drooping frown. What really catches the eye, is his vastly different eyes - see what she did there? One is a normal human eye, dark and small while the other looked to be glass and electric blue, bulging from his eye socket. It moves independently from his real eye, and it was quite unnerving to them.

Lyra suddenly is reminded of Theodore basically calling her crazy earlier when thinking of how demented her teacher is. She frowns and turns to whisper to Wren.

"Do I look crazy when I study?"

Wren keeps her eyes on Moody to refrain from being caught, leaning against Lyra's shoulder to whisper back. "Yeah, you do."

Lyra glares at her. "Why didn't you say anything? That's embarrassing Wren!"

Unforgivable curses

"Because it's kind of cute that you don't realize it. Your fingers run through your hair so much that it's all over the place and your eye twitches sometimes." Wren tells her, nonchalantly

And they are so named.

Lyra feels her cheeks heat up and she closes her eyes, mortified that people see her in that state. That, stupid, Theodore Nott has seen her like that. "Oh my God. Kill me now."

Wren looks at her in amusement. "How'd you find out anyway?"

"Nott told me." Lyra grumbles.

Wren goes to say something but a demanding shout makes both girls jump out of their skin. They pull away from each other to see Professor Moody glaring at them.

She feels like shrinking in her seat when his smaller eye shifts from Wren's still figure to hers. Lyra blinks, wondering why his previously furious face is now shocked and, dare she say, sad? His eyes are stuck on her face, both taking in every detail as if he can't believe his eyes.

Lyra grows uncomfortable, and by the looks her peers are shooting at her, they sense the weird tension as well.

"Sir?" Lyra clears her throat, voice coming out much smaller than she hoped. Can you blame her when a creepy looking man is staring at her?

Her voice snaps Moody out of whatever train on thought he was in. She watches him look around the class, as if he is just noticing how long he has been silent.

"What the fuck?" Wren mouths to her with wide eyes and Lyra just stays silent, fingers instictively touching the tips of her hair.

Moody coughs. "What's your name? The Gryffindor one."

"Lyra Lovegood, sir." She manages to say with more confidence than before.

"Any relation to Pandora Lovegood?"

His question makes Lyra understand what is happening. She is the splitting image of her mom, a ringer for the woman in her youth so did he recognize the similarities? Did he know her mother? Pandora worked for the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry but Lyra doubts even then she'd know an auror. So, who was Pandora Lovegood to Alastor Moody?

"She's my mother, sir." Lyra's fear vanishes and is replaced with suspicion as she slightly narrows her eyes at the man.

Moody nods to himself. "Right. Right.." He looks back at her and his intimidating mask is back up. "You were talking in the middle of my class, Lovegood. So, tell me what exactly we were discussing. Hm? You should know, were you paying attention." He sneers.

"I was, sir." Lyra says, feeling herself relax into the Lyra she knows well. "You told the class that you prefer a practical approach to Defense Against the Dark Arts and asked how many Unforgivable Curses there are."

Moody stares her down, sensing her challenging him and hobbles closer to her. "And how man-"

"Three, sir. The Imperious Curse, the curse of control, The Cruciatus Curse, the curse of torture and The Killing Curse, the name speaks for itself. They are the most sinister and powerful spells of our world and were classified as 'unforgivable' in 1717 by the Ministry. Use of any is punishable by life imprisonment in Azkaban."

Lyra tries her very hardest not to smirk in victory at the sheer suprise and embarressment on Professor Moody's face. She just proved him wrong in front of the entire class.

She couldn't help it - "Any other questions, sir?"

Wren snorts but quickly covers her nose when Moody glares daggers at her. He looks back at Lyra and points his finger at her sitting figure.

"Watch your tone, Lovegood. Smart becomes cheeky in an instant." He growls before spinning around and hobbling back to the board to continue the lesson - what's left to say of it, at least.

Wren nudges her with a smile. "So brave, Gryffindor."

Lyra chuckles silently, bathing in her own pride.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

MOONY SPEAKS!

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