Chapter Text
The morning of November 14th was quite cold. During the night, the storm had been quite turbulent, with lightning splitting the sky, windows rattling and a sea of water lashing the towers, to the point that the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had to sleep in a more sheltered area of the castle; at least, the rest of the day promised only sharp gusts of wind and dry cold that penetrated to the bone.
As the first lesson of the morning, by the way, Lyra had Potions.
The classroom smelled of damp, iron and burnt resin; drops of condensation streaked the walls, and the candlelight struggled to keep the darkness lurking in the corners at bay. As everyone took their seats in silence, the echoes of Draco and Harry's argument still lingered in the air, caused by the sparkling badges with the words "Potter Stinks", and ending with badly bounced spells — which left Goyle with pimples on his face and Hermione with teeth growing almost under her lower lip, quickly fixed by Lyra, who in the meantime continued to apologise to Harry and endure Ron's mutterings.
Despite everything, Lyra loved Potions lessons; for her, it was like entering a world she could read better than anyone else: the slow rhythm of the boiling, the weight of adding a pinch of any ingredient, the way the ladles were used... if Hermione was the strictness of the textbook and Draco was talent nurtured by pride and discipline, Lyra had an absolute ear for Potions — she had an infallible tactile memory, almost as good as the one she had for the piano, capable to recognise with her eyes closed when the ingredients really blended together or when a flame needed to be lowered by anail's breadth. And in class, everyone knew that 'Miss Selwyn' was always one step ahead, even to Granger and Malfoy, to the point that her classmates asked her for corrections in whispers — and Draco, as much as he didn't want to admit it, tilted his head slightly to follow the girl's movements, unlike Hermione, with whom Lyra exchanged notes quietly. And Snape, who never gave praise even under torture, betrayed small signs of satisfaction every time he passed her desk.
«Antidotes!» Snape announced, looking around. «You should have already prepared your potions, so today you will be distilling them carefully, and then we will choose someone to be the guinea pig...» he sighed. «And don't forget to prepare at least one antidote.»
Lyra chose the Laugh-inducing Potion. It was certainly not the easiest potion to manage, but its effect — if it worked — would make the person laugh uncontrollably for no apparent reason, to the point of breathlessness. She tied her hair into a quick bun, rolled up her sleeves and began the preparation. The class was silent for the first half hour, everyone with their eyes on their cauldrons.
But the silence was broken by two sharp knocks on the door: it was Colin Creevey, a young Gryffindor boy who slowly made his way to Snape's desk.
«Yes?» Snape asked dryly.
«Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs.» Snape stared at the boy, whose smiled faded, for a long time, then turned to Harry.
«Potter has another hour and a half of Potions to complete,» he replied coldly. «He'll come upstairs once this class is over.» Draco chuckled under his breath along with Crabbe and Goyle.
«But sir- Mr Bagman wants him,» said Creevey nervously. «All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs...»
«Very well, very well!» muttered Snape, his tone unchanged. «Potter, get your things and get out of my sight!» Harry quickly gathered his things and headed for the door with Creevey.
Lyra watched the whole scene and almost burned the potion.
«Concentrate, Miss Selwyn,» Snape said as he passed behind her, his cloak brushing the back of her chair. «Your potion has no time for distractions.»
«Yes, professor.»
Towards the end of the lesson — which seemed to last forever — Snape began to walk around the tables. The Slytherins and Gryffindors were busy despite the little time left, both for fear of making mistakes and for fear of the professor, who seemed more insistent than usual that day. The smell in the classroom was pungent. Lyra was bent over her desk, stirring carefully; her potion, an effervescent yellowish liquid, was slowly boiling in the cauldron. It gave off a faint aroma of cinnamon and pepper that tickled her nose, but she had to be careful because she had chosen one of the most difficult potions to stabilise.
Then the professor walked behind her, observing, and stopped: «Selwyn... stabilise and prepare the antidote,» he said, giving her a cold look that was as good as praise, and the girl smiled slightly. Lyra prepared the antidote with the same care: a quick infusion of mint, a dash of acanthus essence, two drops of fennel seed extract. She poured it into a clear vial and held it in her hand to feel its warmth, as if she could measure the correct reaction with her fingertips. The wind outside whistled through the unlit fireplace in the basement and made the nearest flame flicker for a moment.
«Well,» said the professor when the time was up. «I suppose we can try them, so I'd say we'll start with Miss Selwyn's... Mr Thomas, come on—» he didn't have time to finish, because at that moment the door creaked open and George Weasley appeared in the doorway, his hair tousled and a parchment clutched in his hand.
«Professor Snape, I'm sorry. Professor McGonagall asked me to give you these updated student records...»
Snape didn't even bother to thank him, but snatched the papers from his hands. «What a miracle, Weasley. I'm surprised you didn't get lost in the dungeons...» then he looked around the classroom. «And, look, you're just in time.»
George blinked, confused. «In time for...?»
«We needed a volunteer,» Snape cut him off, turning to Lyra. «Selwyn, prepare a dose of your potion. Weasley will do us the honour of testing it.»
«What?» George smiled nervously. «I— Really? Are you sure—?»
«Do you have anything better to do?» the professor cut him off, and Ron and Hermione, not far from Lyra, giggled. «Sit there and don't you dare move.»
With an expression somewhere between amusement and resignation, George sat down in the chair indicated. «I just hope the girl doesn't poison me...»
Lyra, meanwhile, took a vial from her workstation, poured some honey-coloured potion into it and approached George with a smile.
«Are you sure you want to be the guinea pig?»
George looked her in the eyes. «With you taking care of me? I trust you.» he winked at her, and someone in the back whistled softly.
«Silence!» Snape shouted.
Lyra blushed slightly, looked away from him and handed him the potion; George swallowed it in one gulp and for a moment nothing happened. Then a giggle, then another, until it turned into loud laughter. Within seconds, George Weasley was doubled over, unable to hold back, his eyes watering, laughing so hard that he attracted everyone's attention. His hands clung first to Lyra, then to the desk, and he was breathless, his eyes shining. «Ahahaha... Selwyn, you're an evil witch—»
And the class, which had initially held its breath, burst out laughing at the infectious laughter, Lyra included.
Snape, however, silenced them with a deadly glance. «Selwyn. The antidote. Now.»
Lyra stepped forward and helped George drink the light green potion from the vial. He managed to drink it between sobs and giggles, and slowly his breathing stabilised, and George calmed down, running a hand over his wet eyes. «Wow... what a feeling. Your potion works, and I'm still alive.»
She smiled slightly. «You look almost disappointed.»
George looked at her again, his eyes still shiny. «No, I'm just surprised. You know, I don't usually trust myself to be vulnerable with a Slytherin.»
«You didn't have much choice,» she said softly, looking at him.
«True... but if it had to happen, at least it was you, right?» he replied, giving her a smile that almost took her breath away.
Snape coughed dryly. «Weasley, Selwyn, if you're done with your lovey-dovey stuff... he can leave, before I deduct points from both Houses.»
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Shortly after the end of classes, the castle had returned to a state of apparent calm, with a silence that preceded the hustle and bustle of lunch, people talking and cutlery clattering. Some students began to pour into the Great Hall, driven by hunger or the simple habit of sitting down at the table to relax. Lyra, fresh from Charms, walked alongside Daphne and Pansy, their voices intertwining in giggles and whispered comments, always returning to what had happened in Potions.
«Come on, don't tell me it wasn't brilliant,» Pansy said, laughing. «George Weasley doubled over with laughter because of you, Lyra, while Snape looked like he was about to cast Avada Kedavra on the whole class...»
Daphne laughed. «But then when he turned to tell you he trusted you... I'm sorry, it was like a scene from a romance novel. All that was missing was the music in the background!»
Lyra covered her mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. «Stop it! It wasn't like that...»
«No, of course not,» said Pansy, feigning innocence. «That's why you were laughing too, while Snape was looking at him as if he wanted to poison him slowly.»
They had just arrived in the Great Hall when they heard familiar voices calling, «Hey, Selwyn!» And Lyra turned around: sitting at the Gryffindor table, leaning listlessly on their palms, were the Weasley twins. Fred waved her over, as if welcoming a celebrity, while George looked at her with a smirk of pure amusement. Pansy and Daphne exchanged glances and smiled.
«Perfect...» Daphne began, taking Lyra by the arm. «The bride is expected at the altar.»
«Try not to trip on the red carpet,» whispered Pansy as they accompanied her to the two boys, surrounding her like bridesmaids.
«Are you all right, girls?» George asked.
«We're fine. Our dear Lyra is all yours for the next five minutes,» said Daphne with an exaggerated bow. «See you later, beautiful!»
«So...» started Fred, waving a copy of the Daily Prophet and placing it on the table in front of the girl, who had meanwhile sat down next to George. «We thought you'd like to read this gem.»
George snorted. «Or rather, be outraged with us. Rita Skeeter has done a masterpiece, she's outdone herself... in a bad way. It's a mess.»
Lyra picked up the newspaper curiously. They watched her silently, waiting for any sign of what she was reading. The article was on the front page, written in large letters:
'Harry Potter, the Chosen One at all costs?'
A nasty scar, a reminder of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes are tearful...
Rita Skeeter hadn't wasted any time: the first few lines were full of broken sentences, partial quotes and insinuations. The more time she spent reading it, the more stunned she became. Then her gaze shifted from one twin to the other. «Does she really say that Harry's "eyes were glistening with the demons of the past" as he told his story?» Lyra asked with a puzzled expression. Fred spread his arms.
«She does think that. According to me, she either mixed him up with someone else or she needs a new pair of glasses.»
George was silent, staring at the headline with his arms crossed. «She's using his name like it's a calling card to sell stories. And the school isn't doing anything about it.»
«12 years old... Then she mentions his parents— I mean, "What do you think your parents would have said if they were alive?"» said Lyra, trying to imitate a harpy's voice. «How can the Ministry let things like this pass?» The twins nodded, as shocked as she was. Then Fred stood up with a sigh, stretching.
«I'm going to see if Angelina's coming. We promised to talk to her about that top secret thing...»
«Sure, you go ahead, now that we were getting all indignant together!» said George sarcastically, but Fred replied with a whistle and a smile before disappearing into the crowd. Left alone, George and Lyra exchanged a calmer glance.
«Harry's not the type to seek all this...» she murmured after a while. «I'm sticking with this idea.What do you think?» George nodded.
«I'm totally with you, Lyr. Harry's always been a good guy, you know. He wouldn't get involved in something so dangerous, with the possibility of certain death.» He looked at her and then added, more quietly, «I don't know how you do it. You have your own way of seeing people.»
Lyra lowered her gaze to the newspaper: she knew George was right. It came naturally to her to analyse the people in front of her like clockwork, almost in detail, even with very little information. «It's like nobody wants to see that there's something strange about all this!» she muttered as she nervously leafed through the next pages of the Gazette. «Harry isn't even old enough to participate. And the look he had that night, and every day since, seemed lost.»
George nodded with an unusually serious expression. «Yeah. No one has asked what it means to be thrown into something this big. Everyone just talks about glory, fame... but not the panic that's probably eating him up inside.»
Lyra glanced at him, looking surprised and amused. «You talk surprisingly profoundly for a boy who sells explosives and sweets that make you spit green smoke. Are you okay, or is it my potion?» George smiled, tilting his head to one side.
«I have many layers, Selwyn. Like a magic onion. I burn your eyes if you cut me in the wrong place, though.»
She burst out laughing. «Did you just say you're a cursed vegetable?»
«And proudly so, if it makes a stuck-up Slytherin laugh.»
Lyra shook her head but couldn't hold back a smile, settling herself better on the bench to turn and look at him. «For your information, I'm not stuck up. I'm just a private person...» she told him, moving closer to his face and sticking out her tongue.
George laughed without looking away. «You're actually more elusive than a Devon pixie, you know that? We see you everywhere, but as soon as we talk to you, you manage to wriggle out of the conversation as if you had the Vanishing spell built into you.»
She shrugged. «I just like to observe.»
«And what do you observe?» he asked quietly after a few moments.
«You know, people. How they move, how they talk... how they shift when they think no one is watching.»
«And what have you observed about me?» George asked with a feigned air of haughtiness, leaning slightly towards her, reducing the distance between them to a breath. Lyra blushed and cleared her throat.
«That you ask too many questions, Weasley.»
«Ah, so you're interested in me too. I'll definitely remember that...» George tossed his hair back with a satisfied smile on his face. «But you do know you can talk about yourself without anyone using it against you, right?» Lyra didn't answer right away. She looked at the torches on the walls, the golden reflections on the stone floor, and then back at the newspaper on her lap, finally returning her gaze to him.
«It's not that simple for me.»
George stopped smiling, not completely, but his expression softened. «Well, let's start with the basics. Favourite colour?»
«Red.»
«Like my tie? Coincidence? I don't think so.» He chuckled as she tapped him gently with the folded newspaper.
«You're trying to trick me into talking about myself. You're cheating.»
«No, I'm just trying to get to know an interesting girl, one detail at a time. I like red too.» She said nothing, but looked down with a smile, and George looked at her for a moment.
«You know, you're not what I expected.»
«What do you mean?» Lyra asked, almost confused.
«You're much less... Slytherin than I thought. I thought you were like your friends, deep down. That's a compliment, before you throw an explosive potion at me.» George held his hands up quickly.
Lyra rolled her eyes. «I'll keep that in mind, magic onion.»
George laughed, and despite the noise in the Great Hall growing louder as the minutes passed, Lyra could only hear that sweet, infectious laugh, and she smiled without thinking. Students entered in waves, but the two seemed to be in a small bubble suspended just for them. And in that moment, however small, another piece was added to the bond that was forming between them. Until Lyra turned towards the entrance.
«Hey, Hermione» Lyra said loudly, waving her hand. Hermione saw her, smiled and walked quickly towards them. «Do you know each other?» George asked quietly, and the girl nodded hastily.
«Lyra, hello,» Hermione said, surprised. «Everything okay? Strange to see you at the Gryffindor table...» Lyra laughed.
«Yeah, George and Fred made me read the article written about Harry in the Daily Prophet, and it left me speechless. Anyway, sorry I kept you waiting. I wanted to talk to you about the SPEW.»
Hermione's eyes lit up. «So? What do you think?»
George joined the conversation in his usual even tone. «Great name, really! Sounds like an emergency ward for rude elves.»He raised his hands in a gesture of peace. «No offense, Hermione... but what's the point? It won't work. Elves don't want to be freed. I mean that without any bad intentions: they'll break your hands before they'll accept a sock.»
Hermione's mouth tightened slightly; Lyra gave her a warning look and returned to Granger as if George hadn't spoken at all. She opened her folder, took out the file and handed it to him carefully. «It's a good cause to fight for, and I'd love to be part of it. I can help you with the flyers or by writing something decent.»
Hermione almost screamed. «Seriously? Ahh, that's great, thank you!» She hugged her suddenly, and Lyra half-gasped because she wasn't used to such affection, but she tried to return the hug, albeit awkwardly. «You know, I didn't think you'd be involved, seeing as you're always with Malfoy and the others—»
The girl stared at her for a moment, taken aback, but smiled. «I know, but I'm not cut from the same cloth as them. House elves don't deserve the way they're treated... Here, take this for the participation fee.»
Hermione lit up. «Really? Thank you, Lyra, you're amazing. I'll have Harry add you to the list, but in the meantime, here's your badge!»
But it was at that moment that the carefree mood, at least for the Slytherins, diminished: Blaise, Draco and Theo slowly approached them, their cloaks perfect and their gazes as curious as they were contemptuous. «Selwyn,» Theo said, and George almost choked on his water at the annoyance it caused him. «Still here? We were waiting for you in the Common Room to have lunch together, but Pansy and Daphne informed us...»
Draco looked at the Gryffindors with contempt. «What a delightful scene.»
Blaise, on the other hand, merely smiled slightly at George and Hermione. Lyra stood up slowly, and in that moment George noticed the almost imperceptible change in her face: her eyes darkened slightly, her lips tightened, and her fingernails played with the palms of her hands. Perhaps discomfort, or irritation, or something else. He looked at her, tilting his head slightly.
«If you really have to go...» he said in a deliberately neutral tone, but his eyes asked if everything was all right.
Lyra nodded slightly and then turned to Hermione. «Let me know when you need help with that, alright?» The girl nodded and smiled enthusiastically. She gave a final wave before walking away with her friends towards the Slytherin table, leaving George and Hermione there in a slightly awkward silence.
«Is she always like this?» asked George, referring not so much to the Slytherins as to the defensive attitude Lyra seemed to adopt when she was with them. Hermione looked at him carefully, taken aback by the question.
«Often. But I think that deep down, she's not really like them. It's just probably easier to pretend to be than to explain the opposite every time...»
George didn't answer right away. He stared at the empty spot where Lyra had just disappeared and ran a nervous hand through his hair. «I don't know, Hermione... it's just that when she talks to us, she seems different. More real, even if she's reserved. But as soon as her friends arrive...» He turned for a moment towards the table on the opposite side of the Hall. «She closes up as if to protect herself.»
Hermione nodded. «Because she does protect herself. Lyra doesn't trust easily, so she's on guard with everyone.» George looked down, biting the inside of his cheek just like she did, and Hermione noticed but said nothing.
«I just want her to know that with me—» Realising what he had said, his eyes widened and he corrected himself quickly. «I mean, with us, she doesn't always have to be like walking on eggshells.»
The girl stifled a laugh and nodded at him. «Then show her. Try to include her, maybe invite her to try one of your weird prototypes, like you did today with the Daily Prophet... or like I did with the SPEW. She's a girl who wants to help, she wants to feel useful, but no one ever asks her to.»
George looked up, and Hermione nodded towards Lyra, who was talking to the others at the Slytherin table, perhaps not looking very happy. «Sometimes it would be enough to make her understand that there's room for her too. It's hard for me too, given what her 'friends' put me through, but she's shown herself to be different.» He remained silent, but there was something in his eyes, as if he were already thinking about what to do. Hermione gave him a little push on the shoulder. «And of course, George... it's clear that something about her has stayed with you. Even if you don't want to admit it.»
George snorted, but surrender shone in his eyes. «Me? No way. It must be the charm of this SPEW thing.»
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The afternoon passed slower than ever for Lyra, mainly due to the argument she had with Theo after he saw her at the 'enemies' table, where most of the attention was focused on George. Despite everything, she didn't respond because she thought it was pointless. As they left the Herbology greenhouses, where the Slytherins had had a lesson with the Ravenclaws, heavy rain awaited them.
«Come on, guys, move!» shouted Daphne as she ran, trying to cover herself with her bag like the others. Laughing and running, Lyra followed the group in the pouring rain. They reached the portico and stopped, panting, trying to shake the water off themselves. Lyra, in particular, had to wrap her soaked cloak tightly around herself, and drops of water were running down her cheeks, which were frozen by her equally wet hair. Not to mention the shirt under her uniform, which was sticking to her skin.
«It's mid-November and it feels like the middle of winter...» said Blaise, snorting, and everyone agreed in a whisper. «Hot chocolate in the Common Room before we study, guys?»
Lyra, smoothing her hair with trembling hands, shook her head. «I'll join you in a minute, guys. I have to go to the library to get some Defence Against the Dark Arts books.» Pansy raised an eyebrow.
«Are you going there looking like that?» she asked.
«Yes, I'll warm up in there. You go on to the Common Room without me, I'll join you as soon as I can to study. Make me some hot chocolate!» she shouted as she waved goodbye and everyone laughed.
At that point, Lyra headed for the library, still dripping and cold. She resumed walking down the half-empty corridor, and the only thing on her mind was not the bitter cold: there was Theo's face in her mind, but above all, George's glances at her that morning, which were harder to shake off than the water.
She smiled slightly as she thought about it, but then she snapped back to reality, shaking her head. 'No, I can't think about that...' she murmured under her breath, smiling, as if to escape the out-of-place thoughts she wasn't used to having.
She couldn't lose her head just because a boy a little older than her — however interesting she found him — was giving her looks that seemed to pierce her soul. She wasn't the type to think about such things.
«Were you talking to yourself or practising casting spells on anyone who happens to cross your path?»
Lyra started, her eyes widening as she spun around: George Weasley was there, leaning against a column next to the windows, hands in his pockets and a smug grin on his face. «Good heavens, Weasley, are you trying to give me a heart attack?» she blurted out, huddling into her wet cloak. «What on earth are you doing here?»
«Hey, don't be like that. At least I'm not talking to myself in a half-empty corridor, dripping like a house elf who's just stepped out of a cold shower.» He glanced at her and lowered his voice, moving closer to her and coming up to her height. «Are you planning to melt in the corridor, or are you aiming to break the record for the fastest cold ever caught at Hogwarts?»
Lyra snorted and rolled her eyes, but still managed a half-smile. «I'm going to the library. I need to get a book before it disappears into thin air like my dignity right now.»
She started to walk away, but George laughed softly and stepped away from the column, walking alongside her. «I'll walk you there, so if you pass out from hypothermia, I can tell the story with great pathos.»
«Oh, what an honour. And I thought you were wandering around ruining my day.»
«Oh no, no darling, I'll save that for another time.» They exchanged a quick glance and he winked at her. Lyra looked away, almost embarrassed, and they continued walking.
«But seriously, what happened to you?» he asked after a silence, in a less joking tone. «You're soaking wet.»
She shrugged, snorting. «Herbology class in the rain. I didn't think I needed to bring a life jacket.» George raised an eyebrow.
«And your friends didn't drag you to the Common Room to wring you out in front of the fireplace? Those little beggars...» he said, shaking his head.
«They went on ahead, I had to go to the library.»
«Stubborn and determined. A great Slytherin, eh?» he muttered, rolling his eyes, and Lyra nudged him with her shoulder, laughing, and they entered the library to look for the textbook.
Among the tall shelves, the world grew quieter. Lyra scanned the section she was interested in and began running her finger along the spines; George, behind her, did the same, stopping occasionally to offer her a volume. «Which one are you looking for, exactly?» he asked, lowering his voice reflexively. «DADA is like half the library.»
Lyra brushed a worn spine and shook her head. «A serious manual on Unforgivable Curses. Not a first-year summary: I want origins, limits, countermeasures... stuff like that.»
«Got it.» He looked up at the higher shelves. «Let's go up a level then.»
«Damn, where is it...» the girl muttered nervously, continuing to search.
«Right here,» said George, taking the book from two shelves above where Lyra was looking and handing it to her. «All yours!»
They were so close that Lyra almost stopped breathing, feeling the warmth of his breath and body mingling with the damp cold that still clung to her skin. She stared at him for a moment too long, her lips parted slightly, then lowered her gaze to the book and took it with a whisper.
«Thank you...»
The word came out trembling: it was impossible to tell if it was just from the cold still prickling her damp skin or from his sudden proximity. George looked at her for a moment, tilting his head slightly.
«Wait...» he whispered. Calmly, he slowly took off his red and gold striped scarf, still warm from his body heat and smelling of wood and spicy almonds, and wrapped it around her neck, tying it carefully and barely touching her chin with his fingers. Lyra held her breath: she suddenly felt a strange sensation of warmth on her face and neck, and it had nothing to do with the wool of the scarf.
She had blushed.
George leaned forward slightly, just enough to look her straight in the eyes.
«Red like the scarf,» he murmured with a half-smile, glancing at the girl's cheeks.
Lyra quickly looked away, shaking her head slightly. «Nonsense.»
«Beautiful nonsense, though,» he continued, then leaned closer to the girl's ear and whispered something that made her heart skip a beat and her breath catch in her throat. «Flaming red. My favourite colour.»
Lyra held her breath, feeling her heart pound in her chest and a shiver run down her spine. She jumped slightly and looked at him with an uncertain, dazed expression, while he looked at her with a half-smile and moved on to look at other shelves. He had been annoyingly good at making her blush.
But why did she feel this way about him, whom she considered only a friend?
She returned to the Slytherin common room with George's scarf still wrapped around her neck, and as soon as she crossed the threshold, Blaise and Daphne whistled at her.
«Are you sure you only went to get a book, Selwyn?» Blaise asked, winking at her. Lyra simply replied by raising an eyebrow and giving a slight smile. Shifting her gaze, she met Theo's, who was sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace: he stared at her for a moment without saying a word. While she was adjusting her bag, Theo remained motionless, his fingers clenched on the armrest and his jaw clenched.
Her thoughts were interrupted, however, by Draco, who had been watching her with the look of someone who sees everything even when pretending not to — as she did most of the time, except perhaps when it came to boys. «Nice colour. It brightens you up, you know?» he commented sarcastically, his gaze fixed on her scarf. «Brotherhood with the enemy?»
Lyra raised an eyebrow. «Are you trying to whistle at me like Blaise?»
He shook his head, smiling. «No, I'm too refined for such village fair displays. But I could venture a guess as to the expression on Theo's face.»
«Don't start, it was nothing.» Lyra said, snorting, embarrassed.
«Lyra...» Draco said seriously, lowering his voice. «If someone looks at you as if they've just seen their fortune arrive with their neck wrapped in a red and gold scarf, maybe it's not just annoyance.»
She lowered her eyes. «It's not my fault. Theo and I are great friends.»
Draco looked at her for a moment and then shrugged. «I didn't say it was your fault. But maybe you should try to red the situation better, before someone else tells you in a way that's worse.» Lyra took a deep breath.
«I told him clearly, Draco. Last year, when we broke up, I was very clear — despite everything we had said to each other. I didn't leave him any openings, no half-promises. I'm not playing games with him.» Draco nodded slowly, and in that slight bow there was more respect than judgement.
«I know that. And I know you're not playing games. But people hear what they want to hear, and Theo... sees what he wants to see. I'm just saying, handle it before they do, and they'll do it worse.»
His words lingered like a warm brand. Lyra bit the inside of her cheek, then smiled bitterly. «All right, I'll talk to him.»
Draco touched her arm with two fingers, a quick gesture like an older brother. «Your own way is fine. And if you need me— I mean, I'm not famous for diplomacy, but I know how to handle stuff.»
«I know, thank you, Draco.» she whispered with a slight nod, clutching her folded scarf.
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November 21st, 1994
The late afternoon sky had almost finished giving off the last rays of sunlight, and the light had given way to a pink sunset, but with a damp and cold air. Lyra walked stealthily along a deserted corridor of the castle, her heart beating as fast as if she were going to do something forbidden: in fact, she was on her way to the meeting point she had agreed with Fred and George that morning. Over the past week, she had spent more time with them than she'd planned, chatting about this and that, about special products they were preparing for silent sale — and here the twins were almost hit over the head with cauldrons by the girl — and about themselves, even though Lyra didn't want to reveal too much. Daphne and Pansy didn't agree with sending her alone, let alone that she had started seeing them more often. In any case, she finally saw the Weasley twins appear from behind a column with Ron a little further back, looking uneasy.
«Hi, little witch!» Fred began. «Thanks for being here with us. We invited you because we trust you, but you must swear solemnly that you won't tell anyone, not even under Veritaserum, except to one person we'll tell you.»
Lyra looked at the three of them worriedly, but nodded. «I solemnly swear that I won't tell anyone. If I were you, I'd trust you even without your naughty oaths, but if it's that important...»
«It is,» George interrupted. «But now we have to go to Hagrid's or we won't get anything done.»
They set off on the long walk to Hagrid's hut, which was a little way down the hill from the castle, near the Forbidden Forest. The girl lagged slightly behind the three brothers, but she could hear Ron muttering under his breath, 'I still don't think it's a good idea. She's a Slytherin, she's always with Malfoy... who's to stop her telling him everything?'
Lyra stopped, and the three turned around in surprise. «Ron Weasley...» she began calmly but firmly, staring him in the eyes. «I understand your concern, and I don't expect anyone to trust me right away, especially you. But if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't talk too much, because if I had a friend in trouble, if Harry were my friend, I wouldn't abandon him despite our different houses.»
Ron held her gaze, his face still red. «The Slytherins have always made our lives hell. And Malfoy... the things he says about my family, about Hermione...»
«I know,» she interrupted him. «And I've never agreed to those things. I've pointed that out to him more than once, even when we were fighting, but I won't stick my nose too much into your business because it's none of my concern. I'm here tonight because your brothers trust me, so I'm asking you to at least try.»
Fred clicked his tongue. «Hey, nobody here wants a trial. We chose her.»
George took half a step towards Ron, still watching Lyra. «If she betrays us, I'll deal with her,» he said quietly, patting him on the shoulder. Ron looked down at his shoes, then looked back up, a little more candid.
«I still don't trust you. But... I'm sorry. I had no right to take my prejudices out on you.» Lyra nodded and Ron coughed awkwardly. «All right. Let's go. But if Malfoy smells something—»
«He won't hear it from me!» she cut him off.
Fred rubbed his hands together. «Excellent! Reconciliations, trust earned, and soon some healthy fear. What a romantic evening.»
When they reached the cabin, they knocked and were greeted at the door by the gamekeeper, whose smile lit up his bearded face as he gestured for them to enter. Inside the house, there was the smell of wood, herbs hanging to dry, and the sound of a kettle bubbling on the fire. «Who's this girl?» he asked, looking at her curiously. «I don't think I've ever seen you here, maybe just in class.»
«This is Lyra Selwyn,» George said, stepping in front of Lyra. «She's with us on this.»
Hagrid looked at her and smiled. «Intense green eyes... you know, they remind me of someone I know very well.» Lyra smiled back, though she was taken aback and confused by the remark. They talked for a while over hot tea, with Fred, Ron and Hagrid sitting at the table and Lyra and George on the small sofa.
George then, without beating about the bush, spoke up. «Hagrid, we have to show her... the special guests. You'll help us.»
The man understood immediately and stood up with a sigh. He grabbed his waxed cloak and nodded towards the doorway; they went out one at a time, into the damp darkness that engulfed them and the ground that sank slightly beneath their shoes.
«Ladies first!» said George when he was alone with Lyra, bowing to her. She rolled her eyes and laughed, and they closed the door.
After a few minutes of walking in the dim light of the forbidden forest, they suddenly began to hear loud noises, including hollow snorts, moans and the sound of chains, and a low crackling like burning coal. They passed through a light magical barrier and caught a glimpse of colossal dragon silhouettes, asleep under the watchful eye of their tamers.
Lyra was shocked to say the least, covering her mouth with her hands and instinctively taking a step back, hitting George square in the chest. He was as surprised as she was, but moved quicker and wrapped his arms around her waist to prevent her from falling into the mud. Under his fingertips, he felt wool, and then the actual shape of the girl's hips; his heart leapt into his throat when the breeze carried the scent of vanilla mixed with lavender to him, coming from her neck but especially from her soft, long hair. He swallowed, trying to hide a smile, but without letting go of her hips, as if he didn't want to forget their shape.
«Hagrid... but these... these are—» She couldn't finish her sentence.
«Dragons.» he completed, worried and proud at the same time as he looked at the dragons with the others, including the Hungarian Horntail, which looked menacing even at rest.
George turned to look at her instead. «Very much alive and very real...» he added, and that was when Lyra realised her hands were on her hips and she bit the inside of her cheek, then moved closer to Hagrid.
«So he'll have to face these next Sunday? Do the other champions know?» she asked.
«He doesn't, but Krum and Fleur do. I don't think Cedric does either, but Harry will tell him. And that's why you're here, Lyra,» said Fred. «We think you're the one who should tell him.»
Lyra stood silently, watching the creatures and listening to their breath, which almost made her ribs vibrate. Then she nodded slowly.
«All right, I'll tell him. It's madness, pure madness to make him face dragons. But he'd better know.»
They left the clearing, walking back along the path to the castle. While Fred and Ron took the lead and were ahead, Lyra walked beside George, talking quietly; but then she slowed down slightly to take the scarf out of her bag that the boy had lent her a few days earlier and which she had used every day since, even though she had her own. She handed it to him shyly, with a small smile on her lips.
«I think it's time I give this back to you,» she whispered. «Thank you for keeping me warm...» she said to the scarf, kissing it. George took it, brushing her fingers.
«Don't worry about it, but keep it if you want, even though it will definitely smell like you. It suits you better than me.»
Lyra giggled, looking up at him with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment that softened her features, almost like a little girl excited by an unexpected surprise. Fred turned and noticed the silent exchange, smiling amusedly before looking back ahead, knowing he would tease his brother later. The four said goodbye at the entrance to the courtyard, and Lyra noticed that Harry was not far from her, sitting on a bench. She sighed and then slowly approached him.
«Harry... I'm sorry,» she called gently, and the boy turned abruptly.
«Hey, Lyra, what is it?»
«There's something you need to know. Hagrid told me you need to meet him in half an hour,» Lyra whispered. «But trust me, you're not going to like what I'm about to tell you.»
She explained just enough to make him understand the urgency, then stood watching him walk away along the path leading to Hagrid's hut, just a small figure against the black evening. Her heart was pounding, a subtle fear lodged between her ribs.
«You did him a favour, you know that?» said a voice behind her. Hermione had appeared beside her, her eyes shiny and thoughtful.
«I just hope he needs it, at least a little...»