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𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔
- 𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒊
chapter eleven

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SHE STRETCHES HER fingers out to test how bad the injury is and immediately hisses through her teeth at the agony.

A small amount of blood is on her knuckles as well as splattered on her school shirt. It's not hers, though, and Lyra feels like gagging. Marcus's blood in on her. Should she get an injection of some kind to avoid diseases? Probably.

The eldest Lovegood sister clearly can't punch as well as she thought if she injured herself this stupidly along the way. Can you blame her? Her father wasn't the type to teach her how to punch when she was little, he taught her how to make tea with gooseberries and water.

It's not the same thing.

Theodore noticed her wince when she cast the wind spell as well as now as she looks at her hand. He moves closer to her and sticks out his hand. "Let me see." He demands.

"What? Are you a healer now?" She asks sarcastically.

Theodore rolls his eyes. "Shut up." His fingers grasp her injured hand.

"Ow!" She winces.

He tuts."It's a fracture."

Lyra's eyebrows furrow. "It's not broken?"

"No." He lets her hand go and looks at her, meeting her judgemental eyes. "I can heal it for you."

Lyra frowns, taking her hand back. She can't go to the Hospital Wing because she'd get questioned. Lyra hates lying to authority (she blames the people pleaser in her) so she'd tell the truth and get in trouble for not only punching another student twice, but using her magic on them. What will that lead her to? Detention? Suspension? A letter to her father? Merlin, she can see his disappointment.

She can't do it herself, she knows no healing spells as she's sure it's higher year magic....wait.

Lyra looks at him in confusion. "How do you know healing spells? That's fifth or six year stuff."

"I heal myself from quidditch all the time. It's better that digesting that green guck Madam Pomfrey makes you drink." Theodore shrugs, remembering how he had to drink it for months before learning the neccesary spells.

"As great for you as that is, I can do it myself." She lies. She does not want to admit that he knows something she doesn't. No way, her ego will deflate and his will tower hers.

"Oh, really?" Theodore narrows his eyes and leans slightly down to look at her. He can tell she's lying. A small smirk tugs on his lips. "Do it, then. Right in front of me." He challenges her.

Lyra purses her lips. Damn it.

Feeling the pain in her hand again, she has to swallow down her pride. She can't do homework with a fractured hand.

"Fine." She forces out.

Theodore smirks triumphantly and stands up straight. "I knew you didn't know it. Let's go." He nods in the opposite direction.

"I knew you didn't know it. Bloody prick." She mocks him under her breath.

"What was that?" He looks down at her.

"I called you a bloody prick." She returns the glare he shoots her. "Where are we going?"

"There's a lavatory in this corridor. The spell will hurt and you'll need to be sitting down." He answers nonchalantly.

Lyra frowns. "Fun." She follows his lead.

"Sit." He tells her once they enter the bathroom and points to the sinks, taking out his wand from his pocket.

Lyra scoffs. "I'm not your dog, Nott."

Theodore sucks his teeth in annoyance and Lyra's eyebrows raise at this.

"Lovegood, light of my life, apple of my fucking eye, sweetheart, would you please oh please just sit down so i can heal you?" He 'begs', taking a step closer with each word.

Lyra is a bit taken back. Despite this, a part of her thinks that his solution to her attitude being to entertain it, a bit funny and....cute.

Her face wants to break out into a smile but Lyra catches on and yells at her conscious to stop. Nothing about this is cute.

"Only because you said please."

Lyra hesitantly hops up to sit on the edge of the wide sink near the door, leg crossing over the other and her left hand cradling her injured one in her lap.

Theodore approaches her and Lyra becomes hyperaware of his presence. The feel of his school shirt against her bare kness. The smell of his coloagne. The freckles she can see on his collarbone..

The sudden picture of shirtless Theodore on the quidditch pitch pops up in her head. Lyra squeas loudly with a shudder. Get that picture of your head!

Theodore steps away in alarm. "What?" He looks at her in bewilderment.

Lyra shakes her head. "I saw a bug." She says quickly.

"You're scared of a tiny bug?" Theodore scoffs, fortunately believing her ruse and stepping closer again. This time, Lyra makes sure to keep her eyes on his.

"Some are deadly." She shrugs.

"So is your punch."

Lyra is slower this time and a small, amused laugh escapes her.

Theodore's eyes lift to observe the rare action. Her laugh is like a pleasure he has to earn and that makes this moment one he won't forget.

He gently takes her hand in his large one and both, subconsiously, pause to observe the gesture. They meet eyes at the sensation and look away at the same time. As if the other's gaze burnt them.

Lyra studies the tile floor desperately, pushing away her busy thoughts and focusing on the patterns - reeling in her self. What is going on with her? Why is she feeling all of this? From comforting Wren, punching Marcus and injuring herself - Lyra doesn't have the energy to think properly.

Theodore clearing his throat breaks her from her thoughts. "Ready?"

She blinks, preparing herself. "Yes."

"Brackium Emendo."

Lyra's eyes widen and she yelps. "Bloody hell, why did it hurt more healing it then fracturing it?" She whispers harshly, eyes squeezed shut.

Feeling the pain slowly subside, Lyra opens her eyes. Leaning back, she brings her hand to her face. She speaks after a moment. "Well, you didn't give me six fingers."

Theodore stares unamusedly down at her. "You know, normal people would just say 'thank you'. But i keep forgetting, you're clinically mental."

Lyra looks up, about to snap at him for bringing that up again, but is silenced when the tip of her nose meets his. Her breath hitches and and her now healed hands grip the sink's edge.

She should have immeadiately created distance the second she realized their proxmity but she can't. It feels like an invisable wall is pushing against her back and her body can't move.

Theodore stares at her deeply, dark green eyes flashing to her lips. Her heart stops and the world around them fades away. Is this happening?

Pull away. Pull away. Lyra's brain screams at her but she's wearing earmuffs.

"Well!" A high-pitched voice says. "Aren't you two just scandelous!"

Cheap earmuffs.

The teenagers startle forward and bump their heads together.

"Ow!" They say, pulling away.

Moaning Myrtle giggles. "Oops!"

Lyra glares up at the ghost, jumping off the sink and pushing Theodore's shoulder back so she can move. Maybe a bit too harshly.

"Go away, Myrtle." She says, recovering from the moment seconds ago.

"Aw, you're no fun!" The girl swoops down to hover in front of Theodore, who's still rubbing his head. Myrtle flutters her eyelashes at him. "I bet he is, though."

Theodore just looks at her in disguist, eyes going to Lyra as to say 'do something, she's one of you.'

The Lovegood girl is offended and scowls at the grouping. Though, her eyes harden at Myrtle, feeling more annoyed with her than previous encounters in this moment.

"Ghosts aren't his type, Myrtle." Lyra tells her before shooing her away to the stalls.

Myrtle blows rasberries in her face and says "Your mom was much nicer!" before zooming upwards and landing in the toilet with a volumous splash. Lyra jumps away in time to not get wet from the toilet water.

"Ugh." Lyra mumbles, smoothing down her skirt and straightening her tie.

"How do you know what my type is?"

Lyra turns around and sees him leaning against the sink with his arms crossed. He looks so collected - as if that moment didn't happen. To Lyra it definitely happened, her racing heart is proof of it. But if he is going to act unbothered, she needs to as well, despite it hurting her just a little more than it should.

Lyra clears her throat and crosses her own arms. "I saw you and that girl earlier. Black hair and Slytherin, no?" She recalls.

He hums back, not giving her anything. "And yours is Swedish dimbos whose nose enters the room before them?"

"How do you know about that? And he does not have a big nose!"

"I see you're not denying him being a dimbo."

"Shut up. How do you know about him?"

"His display of affection was quite dramatic, Lovegood. The whole village must have seen it." He answers tauntingly.

Her eyes blaze. "It was sweet." She defends Erik, feeling the need to go a bit further after being brushed off earlier. "Just because he is not insecure about expressing his emotions - like guys like you are - does not mean he's an idiot."

Theodore stares at her, a glare forming. "You want to hear me express my emotions?" He pushes off the sink and strides towards her with a bitter glint flickering at her.

Lyra doesn't waver at his sudden change, glaring up at him as the air shifts around them. "Go for it."

"He will not make you happy because the truth is, he bores you. He is easy and simple. He does not challenge you or linger in your mind. He doesn't even make you blush from anything other than embarresment." He harshly says, moving closer to her face.

Lyra can't even think of anything to say that she denys any of what he just said. She pushes his chest away and her arms drops to her side. "What do you know? Huh? You're just an asshole!" She retorts, desperate to not dwell on the truth.

"I'm the asshole?" He repeats."I'm the guy who was ready to beat those guys to a fucking pulp if they hurt you. So don't call me that when I didn't see Erin anywhere."

"It's Erik!" Lyra yells.

Theodore laughs, and it makes Lyra feel more worked up. "I don't care." He shakes his head and pushes past her. "This was a mistake." He mutters.

The sound of the bathroom door slamming closed makes her turn around and stare at it. So he thinks healing her hand was a mistake? He's the one who started this fight and he's making it seem like she didn't deserve his help.

Lyra fist clenches around her bag's strap before she marches to the door and out the bathroom. For a moment today, she saw something gentle in Theodore Nott. But she was wrong to think there was anything gentle about him, he's her rival for a reason. He enjoys torturing her and competing with her, getting a rise out of her outbursts and messing with her.

And she let him.

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Lyra hastly approaches the portrait entrance and sees Wren standing there, waiting.

"We need to talk." Wren clenches her jaw. "You punched Flint!"

Lyra's eyebrows scrunch, how did she know already? The fight must have happened almost an hour ago. "Who told you?"

"Lavender."

Lyra groans softly, not at Wren but at Lavender's big mouth. "Let me explain."

"No, Lyra. You went too far."

"Too far?" She reapeats in disbelief. Lyra shakes her head and scoffs. "After what they did to you they deserve worse."

Wren's entire face heats up and Lyra realizes her slip up.

"Damn it."

"They did nothing-"

"Wren-"

"-Who even told you something happened!?"

Lyra pauses, suddenly feeling herself lose her side of argument. "Nott.."

Wren glares at her. "And you believe him? You don't even like him but you trust him?" She moves forward and pushes past Lyra "He lied. Nothing happened!"

Lyra may not like him, but she did know he was telling the truth about the incident. She hates that she just knows it.

"If nothing happened then why were you crying last night? Wren, please. You don't need to be embaressed with me-"

Wren's eyes well up and she rips her arm away from Lyra. "Yes Lyra, I fucking do!" She bursts. "I was humilated in front of my house because they hate me for what I am! You'd never understand because you're a pureblood and everyone likes you!"

She takes a short breath, tears flowing free down her face. "No one likes me. I tried so hard to prove myself to them and I still get treated like shit!"

Lyra feels her own tears appear and she clutches her stomach, gesturing to herself. "I like you." She presses, voice giving away how hurt she feels for her best friend. "I love you Wren. You are more than their opnions."

"Am I?" Wren whispers hopelessly.

Lyra crumbles. Hearing Wren belittle herself because of others makes Lyra want to scream at the world for making her Wren feel like nothing. For making her act like she's okay around Lyra and not feel like she can tell her what's weighing her down.

Before Lyra can say anything, Wren seems to realize how she's crying out in the open and rushes to wipe away her tears. "You made things worse. They'll make my life more hellish now because you pissed them off. So, thank you."

Lyra's words die on her tongue as she watches Wren turn around and storm away from her.

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