Chapter Text
The Halloween banquet that evening seemed to go on longer than usual, not so much because it was the second such lavish meal in two days and the tables were still being laden with food, but because, under normal circumstances, each student would’ve enjoyed it more quietly and happily. Lyra looked around and, like everyone else in the Hall, judging by the glances of the students perpetually fixed on the teachers' table to watch Dumbledore and the impatience written on everyone's faces, she could feel the feverish anticipation of the discovery of the three champions of the Tournament.
Draco studied her out of the corner of his eye, his elbow resting on the table and his glass spinning slowly between his fingers, and when he saw that Lyra's shoulders remained as stiff as taut strings, he leaned slightly towards her, his tone half-ironic as usual but his gaze softer than usual.
«You're going to break the glass holding it like that, Lyr. Breathe.»
The words slid off the girl like a light tap; only then did she realise that she was clutching the glass so tightly that her knuckles were white, her breath short and her eyes fixed on the blue fire of the cup.
However, it was the boy's gesture that softened her and almost calmed her down: Draco's warm hand found hers, which was quite cold, under the table. He took it in his hands and began to caress her knuckles with his thumb in light, circular movements, as if to help calm her down; after all, he knew her better than anyone else. Lyra lowered her gaze to their intertwined fingers as she felt the warmth reaching her and her heartbeat slowing slightly, and she smiled at him uncertainly.
«Hey,» Draco murmured. «What I said earlier about Potter... I was joking. I don't think his name will actually come out of there.»
She looked at him sideways, raising an eyebrow slightly, as if weighing his words; but the constant pressure of his fingers against hers was more eloquent than any promise. «Are you really sure about that, Draco? I—»
«Nothing will happen that you can't handle with your emotions...» he added, more quietly, lowering his voice until it was almost a whisper. «And even if it does, you won't be alone. Although I don't understand your strange obsession with him this year.» Lyra nodded as she muttered ‘idiot’ under her breath, letting the blue flames of the Cup reflect in her eyes; she focused on the rhythm of that thumb tracing her skin and for the first time since the candles had been lowered, she felt her heart no longer racing, but walking.
Pansy, however, silenced them with an impatient gesture. «Shhh, guys, it's about to start.» but Draco didn't let go of her hand; he just squeezed it once, like a pact.
Sure enough, out of nowhere, the golden plates returned as good as new and silence fell in the Great Hall: Dumbledore stood up, and the entire teachers' table seemed to stiffen.
«Well, the Goblet of Fire is almost ready to make its choices,» he began. «Those who are chosen are requested to come to this side of the Hall, walk past the teachers' table and enter the room behind it. There you will receive the first instructions.»
He then drew his wand and with a sweeping gesture, all the candles went out at once, leaving only the light of the Cup with its white and blue flames. Everyone stared at it expectantly, holding their breath, and then suddenly the flames turned from blue to red: a tongue of fire shot into the air, carrying a piece of burnt parchment, while the flames returned to their original colour.
Dumbledore grabbed the piece of paper and held it out with his arm outstretched to read the name. «The Durmstrang champion,» he read aloud clearly, «...is Viktor Krum!»
The roar was immediate: a storm of applause thundered through the Hall, echoing off the walls. Krum rose casually and followed the path indicated by Dumbledore, disappearing through the side door as the applause faded. After a few seconds, the flames turned red again, and a second piece of parchment emerged.
«The Beauxbatons champion is Fleur Delacour!»
The girl with long blonde hair rose gracefully, throwing back her shining hair and advancing lightly towards the champions' room. Two of the girls who had been excluded from Beauxbatons were so disappointed that they burst into tears.
And now it was the turn of the Hogwarts champion.
«The Hogwarts champion...» there was a palpable silence in the hall, many students clasping the hands of those next to them as if afraid of who would come out. «It's Cedric Diggory!»
Every single person in Hufflepuff leapt to their feet, shouting, banging their fists on the table and jumping as if the floor were a trampoline, while Cedric advanced with a big smile on his face. Lyra cheered up, thinking that if Hogwarts had to have a face, this boy's was not wrong at all — in fact, it was perfect. The applause for the boy lasted so long that the headmaster took a while to make himself heard.
«Well, now we have our three champions. I'm sure I can count on all of you to give your champions all the support you can —»
But the words suddenly caught in his throat, and everyone realised what had distracted him. Lyra turned to look at the Goblet: the flames, which were blue up a moment before, were now red again. «What... is that normal?» she whispered in shock, looking at her friends. Everyone shook their heads, and Draco shook his head, squeezing her hand again under the table.
«No, not at all.»
Another sheet of parchment came out, singed, and Lyra felt her heart in her throat as if it wanted to escape. She barely had time to think or process what had happened, to prepare herself for anything, when the headmaster's voice echoed in the total silence of the Great Hall.
«Harry... Harry Potter?»
Silence fell in the Great Hall, and Lyra felt the blood freeze in her heart. It was an empty silence, almost a mixture of confusion, surprise and strangeness; and no one laughed or applauded.
Not even a small word of encouragement.
The name that had just been spoken — Harry Potter — hammered in her head at regular intervals as if it were tied to a string in her heart.
It was as if every sound had disappeared.
Every heartbeat, every voice, every breath.
Lyra followed the boy with her eyes as he slowly got up after being pushed by Hermione, who had a now pale Ron beside her. She saw that Harry's gaze was searching for something to hold on to, but in return he received only stares and insults muttered not so quietly.
At that moment, he seemed tiny to her, and he was no longer The Boy Who Lived (in fact, to her, he had always been just a boy like any other) but only a fourteen-year-old boy who wanted to remain invisible — but the world was calling his name, again.
Lyra's fingers clenched Draco's until they hurt, but it was as if she wasn't touching anything; everything in her wanted to move, run, jump to her feet, scream ‘stop’, cross the room and wrap Harry in an embrace tight enough to stop the trembling she noticed in his shoulders — but she knew it wouldn't be enough, that no arms could contain something so big and frightening. Raw fear ran under her skin like the electricity she’d felt from time to time for years, anger bit her tongue, anxiety tightened her throat; and above all, that silent, lucid anguish, the certainty that something had been set in motion and that no one, not even Dumbledore, could bring it back.
She couldn't take her eyes off him — as if, by looking away, something worse might happen to him — and the moment Harry passed between the tables, Lyra had the absurd impression that time bent a little, that sounds came back in jerks, that the castle was holding its breath with her. When the door closed behind the boy, the world started up again, but not in the same way: like a clock that had lost a tooth, everything kept moving, yes, but with an irregular tick that hurt her ears. And inside, where courage is kept, there was only one naked, stubborn thought: 'From now on, nothing will ever be the same again.'
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The next morning, the Slytherin Common Room was buzzing like a hornet's nest: it was like a competition to guess how Harry Potter had managed to get his name into the cup, and how he had got it out. Amidst bets flying back and forth and whispered theories full of venom, a still sleepy Lyra approached her friends sitting around the crackling fireplace.
«What did I tell you, friends…» Draco said, stretching his legs. «Harry Potter has found a way to participate in the Tournament.»
«True... but doesn't he ever get tired of wanting to be the centre of attention?» asked Pansy, clinking her teaspoon against her steaming teacup before passing it to Lyra.
«And, of course, they'll let him compete. Compete, guys! Instead of expelling him from school...» whispered Theo. Blaise and Lyra exchanged glances and sighed heavily. «What, Lyra? You don't agree, as usual?»
Lyra took a slow breath, then let out a yawn. «Actually, I do agree. He shouldn't have been allowed to participate.»
«Ahhh, then you're sane!» Pansy laughed, tapping her knee.
But Lyra's agreement carried — rightly — more weight than theirs.
It was true that she didn't want Harry in the Tournament, but she believed that because it wasn't a tournament a fourteen-year-old could endure, especially given its break after the tasks were stopped because of the deaths. And she would’ve sworn, putting her whole self into the fire instead of just her hand, that it wasn't him who put his name in the Cup. That Harry Potter was looking for new and strange experiences every year, or that he always found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, was obvious — he was a magnet for trouble.
But he would've never risked so much. At least, not of his own free will.
Lyra leaned back, crossing her arms and watching the fire, but she had stopped listening to what the others were saying. There were many, perhaps too many, things that didn't add up, and even though she didn't know Harry, what little she had seen of him over the past three years didn't seem compatible with such a stupid move. She had noticed it in his eyes the night before: it was as if he was trying to understand what had just happened to him; it wasn't the kind of look that betrayed the greed of someone who had got what he wanted.
And there was also that strange, persistent and inexplicable feeling of familiarity towards him: perhaps it was just her imagination, or perhaps it was just her who, unlike the others, wondered why everyone was still so convinced that Harry was always and in any case chaos personified.
Perhaps it was easier for some to believe that story than to really look.
And Lyra, knowing herself, fortunately always looked a little deeper — at least when it didn't involve boys and love together.
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Days later, Lyra still dreamed of the evening when the cup spat out a fourth name, almost like a wound that wouldn’t heal. And, as usual, she opened her eyes wide in the dark, her breath broken. Although she was still tired, she wouldn’t be able to sleep that night, and going back to sleep would be pointless as the anguish in her chest would not let go. She decided to get up quietly, slip on a simple amaranth-coloured robe and a pair of dark Levi's, and go for a walk through the silent corridors of the castle.
Lyra walked slowly through the deserted corridors of Hogwarts, her skin prickling from the cold, the silence around her (except for the voices of the sleeping portraits muttering things to each other in sleep-filled voices) and the sense of emptiness she felt in her chest every time she thought about the Tournament.
She couldn't shake the feeling of constant anguish when her mind replayed the scene: all the students cheering for the three champions, the applause and collective satisfaction — and then the Cup spitting out a fourth name... and when Dumbledore called Harry; as well as the memory of his bewildered, confused face, with no one stopping what was happening. Not to mention how Ron and many of his other friends, or those who considered themselves friends, turned their backs on him when he needed a shoulder to cry on more than ever to face something so immense — especially in the days following the incident.
She left the main hall on the first floor and was about to turn onto a staircase, her head full of thoughts and questions, not even knowing where she was going, when she suddenly heard low voices and suppressed laughter coming from nearby. She took the last few steps on tiptoe to avoid being heard, then peeked out cautiously: Fred and George Weasley were there, sitting on the edge of a parapet with their legs dangling, both holding bottles of pumpkin juice as if nothing had happened, talking.
«Oh, look who it is...» Fred said amusedly when he saw her. «Lyra Selwyn, queen of prophecies and shadows, caught red-handed breaking the rules!»
Lyra pretended not to hear, then peered into the corridor and sighed as she smoothed her hair. «I thought you both were the professionals at breaking rules, not me.»
«Eh, but we're hopeless cases, and the teachers gave up on us halfway through our first year,» Fred replied calmly. «You, on the other hand, would make headlines.»
«Can't sleep?» asked George, who had been watching her curiously until a moment ago, trying to figure out what was going through her mind. She shook her head and sat down on the floor, not far from them, and rubbed her eyes.
«I don't think even a strong dose of valerian or passionflower would help me right now. I guess you guys can't sleep either.»
«Too much going on in our heads, you know?» George muttered, looking up at the starry ceiling above them. «After what happened to Harry the other night... he shouldn't have been chosen. We know that. But something doesn't add up about this situation.»
Lyra nodded slowly, looking up at the ceiling too. «I understand. He's just a boy...» she whispered. «He's my age... and this isn't something to be taken lightly!»
The twins nodded and sighed. Fred, who was still playing with the empty glass bottle in his hands, was the first to speak again. «Our father told us that whoever puts their name in the Goblet signs a binding contract, but it seems to us that someone did it for Harry.»
«You know, when Dumbledore said his name... it was as if I felt a kind of emptiness inside me. Not just out of compassion, but as if...»
There was a moment of silence. Fred was still playing with the bottle in his hands, but George kept looking at Lyra. He watched her closely, tracing the details of her face with his eyes: her high, slightly sharp cheekbones, which gave her a determined tone even when she was silent; her soft, almost pink cheeks; her straight, elegant nose; and her full lips, often pressed together in a thoughtful expression — as if she were always thinking about something. Her hair, darker than it appeared in the night light, fell in waves below her shoulders, with a few rebellious strands falling across her face, escaping her control.
But it was her eyes, green with shades that turned to amber when the light changed, that held the mystery and, above all, George's gaze fixed on her. They were not easy eyes to read: the boy couldn’t tell if there was irony, mistrust or just a deep need not to be misunderstood; it was as if he were looking for something in her way of speaking, or perhaps in her expressions, to understand her.
«Harry would’ve never done such a thing, he wouldn't have got himself into this mess... Do you think it's right that he has to take part?» asked him then, still looking at her.
«I know,» said Lyra, turning to them. «That's what scares me. It's not fair that he has to take part… I mean, I understand the ancient rules, the magical contract, the honour of the schools, all that drama, but— but you can't expect a kid who didn't put his name in the Cup to take this well! He looked terrified, guys!»
«Do you know him well? Harry?»
«No— I mean, only by sight. We’ve never talked much. But it's like when I look at him, part of me feels like I've known him forever. Crazy, right?»
Fred laughed. «Welcome to Hogwarts, where magic makes the real seem crazy and the crazy seem real!» and Lyra chuckled softly.
George kept staring at the ceiling, then turned to look at her. «You can sit here if you want, Selwyn,» he said, indicating the seat next to him with his hand tapping on the stone. «I won't bite.»
Lyra stared at him for a moment, tilting her head. «Are you sure? After the Ageing Potion, you might have developed permanent side effects...» she teased, but she obeyed and stood up, slipping into the seat between the twins.
They remained silent for a while, without saying a word. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but one of those where you know you can relax; and perhaps for the first time, Lyra didn't feel judged or out of place. And maybe she even thought that the Weasleys weren't as stupid as they seemed after all. It was in that silence that, almost without realising it, she reached for the bottle George was holding between himself and the railing; brought the bottle to her lips and took a long sip of juice, feeling the warmth of the spices descend into her throat like a caress, then put the bottle back in its place.
Only then did she realise what she had done, and the blush spread across her cheeks.
With her lips still wet with juice, Lyra put the bottle down abruptly. George, on the other hand, was staring at her with an expression halfway between innocence and guilt, and without changing his tone, he teased her with a calmness that seemed like a sharp blade to her.
«Ah, so that's how it works with you, Selwyn? First you steal my juice, then you look at me like you're sorry... in some villages, that counts as an official engagement, you know.»
Lyra's eyes widened, she felt the heat rise again to her cheeks in an instant, and her first impulse was to retreat, as if she had really crossed an invisible line; she ran her thumb under her lower lip to wipe away the remaining drop and pretend nothing had happened. «I— sorry, I didn't mean to... I didn't think...»
George stopped her with a gesture, and his gaze softened in a second. «Hey, I'm just teasing you, I'm not really making fun of you. Drink as much as you want...» he said, holding out the bottle again, while Lyra took it between her fingers.
With a smile that trembled slightly at the corners of her mouth, she murmured, «Thanks, Fred.»
For a moment, George didn't move a muscle; then he leaned towards her slowly and his warm, still spicy breath came close to her cheek, and he lowered his voice as if he were confessing a secret: «Ouch. Fred, really? It burns almost as much as the Age Line.» he smiled half-heartedly, but a hurt and amused look flashed across his eyes. «Tell me you only confused me because I look better in the dark... or I'll have to start all over again and introduce myself: George. The one who listens to you, and doesn't steal your juice— usually.»
Lyra burst into a nervous giggle, ran a finger over her moist lips as if to erase the gaffe, and shook her head. «I'm teasing you, Weasley. I know very well that you're George. Fred doesn't have those two tiny moles...» She pointed, without touching him, to the right side of his neck. «Here.»
George instinctively touched the spot she had indicated, as if he hadn't known he had them until then, then looked back at her with a half-smile that was softer than usual. «Are you studying me, Selwyn?»
«I'm observing,» she replied simply, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself. «It's a habit I can't break.»
«Oh, fantastic,» Fred chimed in from the opposite side, tapping his shoes against the stone. «I've got nothing, but you've got devastating charisma. I'll make a note of the discrimination.»
Perhaps for the first time in days, Lyra was finally able to breathe without a thousand thoughts running through her head; and perhaps, between the three of them, there was a strange possibility of becoming friends.
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In the morning, Lyra felt more tired than usual: after all, she had spent the night wandering the corridors with the Weasley twins until almost dawn, just before Filch began checking the various floors of the castle in search of students to get into trouble. She let herself fall at the Slytherin table and remained for a moment with her fingers wrapped around her steaming cup of coffee and her gaze fixed in front of her, as if to recharge.
«Strange, I haven't seen Potter around for a while, except in class...» Pansy began in a tone of feigned indifference that masked her nosiness. «And he's not with his friends this morning. Has he already passed away, or is he busy with interviews?» Draco and Blaise laughed, then coughed almost in unison when the bite of pancake almost went down the wrong way.
Lyra looked up from her coffee. «Oh no, there he is!» she nodded as Harry walked towards Hermione, who was left alone after Ron had already left the table. He looked visibly tired and quiet, his shoulders hunched and his gaze fixed on the floor. Lyra continued to watch them without drawing too much attention to herself, pouring pumpkin juice into a glass or eating something, but she found herself holding her breath when she saw Hermione's worried face as she tried to convince the boy of something.
«What do you think they're talking about?» asked Daphne, intrigued by Lyra's insistent gaze towards the table.
«Probably strategies for surviving more than five minutes in the tournament,» replied Draco, grimacing. «If the Cup chose him, he'll have to find a way to stay alive until the end.»
Blaise shook his head and smiled as he poured coffee for the others. «I've known you forever, Draco, and yet you still surprise me with your immense sensitivity!»
Draco raised his head with an air of superiority. «I don't say anything that isn't true.»
«Yeah, probably,» said Lyra. «Although the whole situation still seems strange to me.»
Theo looked at her suspiciously. «Be careful, Lyra. If you stare at him too much, someone might think you're rooting for him.»
«Nonsense, babe,» she replied coldly. «I'm just trying to understand, that's all.»
Then she set her cup down on the table with a sharp sound and rose without haste, as one does when one decides that the rest of the conversation is no longer worth one's time. Around her, the others had already resumed talking about the pins ‘Potter Stinks’ and other ones found in the corridor; and as she crossed the central aisle of the Great Hall, Lyra caught Hermione's eye, who smiled at her slightly and almost sympathetically, as if she knew what she was thinking.
The situation at school, however, had not calmed down at all: Lyra, like probably anyone who still had a shred of common sense, believed that as the days passed, people would get used to the idea that Harry was one of the champions.
But she was wrong.
After Halloween, between the return to classes and the crowded corridors, most of the students were still convinced that he had put himself forward; and now, added to the murmurs were cracks in his friendship with his best friend Ron, the Gryffindors divided into factions and the Hufflepuffs in revolt — who hated him because they believed he had stolen Cedric Diggory's glory.
Lyra was near the library when she heard someone call her in an unusually nervous and tense tone. «Um... Lyra? Excuse me, do you have a minute?»
She turned abruptly and was surprised to see Hermione Granger standing in front of her, clutching a thick folder filled with notes and carefully drawn diagrams. The girl looked slightly agitated and kept looking around as if to make sure no one saw them together.
«Granger?» Lyra asked curiously. «Sure, go ahead. What's going on?»
Hermione took a deep breath, as if searching for the right words. «This might seem strange coming from me, but... would you like to talk for a moment? It's about something that's very important to me.»
Lyra nodded slowly. «What is it?»
Hermione hesitated for a second, then showed her the file, lifting it slightly. «Have you ever heard of SPEW?»
«The... what?» Lyra replied, wrinkling her nose and staring at the cover of the file.
«The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare,» the curly-haired girl said immediately, in the determined and passionate tone she was so familiar with from lessons. «It's something I created to support the rights of domestic elves. It's an important issue, and I need someone with a fairly open mind...»
Lyra chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow. «Open mind? And you come to me?»
Hermione smiled shyly. «I was hesitant, actually, considering how much time you spend with Malfoy and the others. I thought you'd send me away.»
Lyra looked at her and grimaced ironically. «You're right, spending so much time with them can give that impression. But we're not all the same in Slytherin.»
«That's why I'm here!» the other replied confidently, smiling slightly. «You're one of the few who could really understand.» Lyra then gently took the folder from Hermione's hands and began to leaf through it curiously: it was full of pages covered with notes, diagrams and ideas, and small drafts of campaigns for pages, holidays and vacations, and pensions.
«It looks... it looks good, Hermione. I promise I'll take a look at it over the next few days and let you know.»
Hermione smiled with relief. «Thank you so much. It wasn't easy to find someone willing to listen. With Harry and Ron arguing, and the rest of the school going crazy over the Tournament, it seems like everyone has forgotten everything else.»
At the mention of Harry, Lyra looked up suddenly. «Right... speaking of Harry. How is he?»
Hermione sighed, lowering her voice. «Bad. He had a fight with Ron and he's feeling lonely. This whole situation is weighing heavily on him, even though he's trying to hide it.»
Lyra hesitated, clutching the file tightly in her hands. «»Do you think... there's anything I could do to help him?» she asked almost blushing, and the other girl looked up, surprised by such a sincere question.
«Do you really want to help him?»
«Yes,» Lyra admitted after a few seconds of silence, lowering her gaze in embarrassment. «I know it sounds strange coming from me, of all people, but— but he doesn't deserve this. I don't think he put his name in the Cup.»
Hermione nodded firmly. «Neither do I. And maybe... knowing that not everyone thinks he's a liar or an impostor might help him. Just telling him, or letting him know that someone really believes in him—it would do him a world of good.»
She thought for a moment, then looked at Hermione with determination. «All right, then. I'll do something.»
And the girl smiled gratefully. «I knew I should’ve talked to you. You're a better person than you give yourself credit for, Lyra.»
«Now you're exaggerating, Granger,» Lyra teased, feeling herself blush slightly. «I have a reputation to uphold.»
Hermione giggled, shrugging as she walked away. «Don't worry, your secret is safe with me.» and as Hermione disappeared around the corner, Lyra stood still for a moment, looking at the file in her arms, feeling strangely satisfied and nervous about what she was going to do next. She headed to the library to study before letting herself go to the common room for a hot tea.
She was sitting at the back of the library, finishing the second of the two scrolls McGonagall had assigned her a few days earlier. She had stopped to look for something in the book desperately when she heard someone moving among the shelves next to her. She looked up just in time to see Harry Potter. Lyra hesitated for a moment and looked around to make sure no one was watching her, then approached the table where the boy had sat down.
«Potter?» she whispered, so as not to scare him.
Harry jumped, looking up. «Selwyn? What are you doing here, did one of your bosses send you?» he said, surprised and annoyed, as Lyra leaned slightly against the table.
«Usually, people study or read in the library, Harry. It's a rather complicated concept at the moment, I know.» Harry grimaced wearily but seemed to appreciate her irony.
«Yeah, you're right, s-sorry. I didn't think you were a regular here.»
Lyra smiled back. «Surprised that Slytherins can read?»
«No, just surprised that one of them decided to talk to me instead of making fun of me or selling pins against me.»
The girl sighed, sitting down opposite him. «Not everyone thinks you put your name in there, Harry. Me included.»
«Really?» he asked, surprised, his voice low and his eyes shining. «Because from the way everyone looks at me in the corridor, you wouldn't think so.»
She looked at him, noticing the tiredness on his face. «I know it'll sound strange coming from me, but not all Slytherins think you're so naive as to voluntarily seek out something like that. Except for the people I hang out with, apart from Daphne and Blaise...»
Harry smiled bitterly. «Thanks for your trust. After Hermione and Hagrid, and the twins, you're the fifth. A personal best, I'd say.»
Lyra gave him a sincere smile. «Consider yourself lucky, five people is better than none, and it's already something. And anyway, regardless of what others say, I don't think you're a liar. I thought it was only fair to tell you.»
Harry stared at her, not knowing whether to take her seriously. «Why are you telling me this?»
«Because I really mean it, but don't expect me to suddenly become your friend, Potter. I just think you deserve at least one or two real friends.»
Harry looked down. «It would be a lot if the ones I have remembered that they were.»
Lyra immediately understood the reference. «The sixth Weasley, eh?»
The boy scratched the back of his neck and nodded. «He hasn't spoken to me since.»
She settled into her chair and waited a few seconds before speaking. «Give him time, Harry. Sometimes it's strange or hurtful to always be someone else's shadow, especially for him, coming from such a large family.»
Harry looked at her in surprise and grinned. «I didn't think you were so wise!»
Lyra raised an eyebrow, laughing. «Don't get used to it, Potter. As I told Hermione, I have a reputation to uphold.»
He smiled and thanked her profusely. Lyra stood up, carefully gathering the file Hermione had given her.
«But one thing... remember, if you tell anyone about this, I'll deny everything.»
Harry nodded amusedly, returning more calmly to his writing. And Lyra, as she walked away, felt she had done something that made her feel good for the first time in a long time.
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13th November, 1994
Lyra had just returned to the Slytherin common room after another afternoon spent in the library doing research. She was tired but curiously in a good mood: she felt lighter after her chat with Harry a few days earlier, and she’d also managed to spend some time, at least occasionally, with people outside her circle. She let herself fall onto her bed and almost immediately Pansy and Daphne joined her, sitting on the bed opposite.
«Listen, Lyra...» Daphne began with a half-smile. «Is it just me, or do the Weasley twins always find an excuse to talk to you lately? George, especially?»
Lyra looked up in surprise. «What do you mean?»
Pansy giggled. «Yes, really! Why are you always hanging out with those two lately? Have you started fraternizing with the Gryffindors?»
The girl opened her green eyes wide, looking at them puzzled and amused at the same time. «Really, girls, you're exaggerating. We've only talked a few times, we're not really friends. I'd rather call them acquaintances.»
But as she said this, flashbacks of the last few days after her night with the twins began to run through her mind.
Lyra was walking quickly towards the Charms classroom when Fred suddenly appeared in front of her, stopping her with a theatrical air. «Attention, attention, everyone stop! A Slytherin is coming!» he shouted, raising his hand.
«Weasley, stop it,» she replied, smiling, betraying the severity of her voice. «I'm late, you can bother me later...»
«Georgie is too, don't worry,» Fred replied, smirking. «If you keep hanging around him, you'll infect him with all your bad habits.»
«And you'll continue with your terrible jokes,» Lyra replied sarcastically. «It's not my fault you managed to extract my class timetable from me! I can always inform your Head of the House. She'll believe me, I'm a girl and I do excellent in her classes!» she said, waving her index finger.
«Careful, dear Lyra,» George intervened, approaching her with an amused smile. «Irony is our only weapon against your Slytherin barbs...»
The girl shook her head, stifling a laugh. «Bye, guys, bye. Get lost!»
Or when, one day, Lyra was sitting on the edge of a fountain reading her Potions book when George sat down next to her as if nothing had happened. «If they see you here with me, you'll risk your impeccable reputation, you know that, Weasley?» she said without looking up, in a defiant tone.
«Don't worry, Selwyn,» he whispered. «If they find you with a Gryffindor, you'll lose yours too. We're both in danger.»
«Oh no!» she said, pretending to be worried and looking at him. «That's terrible. But I'll think about it after I figure out what to write on the parchment for Snape.»
«See?» said George, chuckling. «At least we'll have something in common. Anyway, what's the research about...?»
Lyra shook her head slightly, returning to the present with a half-smile on her lips.
«Well?» Daphne continued. «Anything to declare?»
Hearing these words, she rolled her eyes in mock exasperation and screamed softly. «Girls, really. You're seeing drama where there isn't any. They're just nice.»
Daphne winked at her. «Mm... just nice? Really, Lyra? Especially George?»
Lyra laughed nervously, then sighed. «I swear, nothing else.» Pansy laughed, getting up from the bed.
«If you say so, sweetheart. But remember, they're Weasleys, let's not get too friendly or we won't know how to defend you.»
«I'll remember that, thank you,» replied Lyra with feigned severity, feeling a strange sensation, like vibrations in her stomach, which made her think that perhaps something was changing.