Narcissa's Wake-up Call(Malfoid)

[NonsensicalRants]

Narcissa's Wake-Up Call

Chapter 1:

A Peace Offering
​

---

Lyra Malfoy had been home for Christmas for less than three hours when her mother summoned her to the drawing room.

She knew at once that she was in trouble, but for the life of her she couldn't guess why.

There were different ways in which Narcissa Malfoy could ask to see her daughter. There was the distracted send Lyra down when she's finished, which generally meant somebody was visiting. There was the much more promising where has Lyra got to?, which usually meant presents, outings, or something else that Lyra was likely to enjoy.

And then there was:

"Your mother is waiting for you in the drawing room, Miss Malfoy," which used to sound much less intimidated coming from Dobby than from their new house elf, Griselda.

Lyra looked up from the book she had been unpacking.

"What did she say?"

The house-elf scowled at her, actually scowled! The nerve!

"Mrs Malfoy said that Miss Malfoy was to come to the drawing room," she repeated with a more pointed tone.

That was bad.

"Did she look angry?"

The elf's eye twitched.

"Never mind."

Lyra put the book down.

Her mother was sitting beside the fire when she arrived, perfectly straight-backed, with a bundle of parchment on the little table beside her.

"Close the door, Lyra."

Lyra did so.

"Sit."

She sat, somehow even more ramrod than her mother.

Narcissa regarded her for several seconds, and she could feel the judgement directed at every invisible wrinkle or speck of dust on her clothes.

Lyra had always thought her mother was good at silence. Her father could shout until the windows rattled when he was angry, but Mother could make Lyra wish somebody would shout simply by looking at her.

She must have decided Lyra was sufficiently uncomfortable to begin, and picked up the bundle.

"Do you know what these are?"

"No ma'am."

"Letters from your professors."

Lyra's stomach dropped.

"They've been writing to you?"

"For some time now."

"Well, if this is about Hagrid—"

"It is not."

"He's completely unqualified. You should have seen what he brought to our first lesson. It was a hippogriff, and he didn't even—"

"Lyra."

She stopped.

Narcissa placed the letters neatly back on the table.

"Professor Snape has been remarkably charitable regarding your conduct, though that is more just his style of writing and his true meaning is obvious to those of us who have known him for so long. Professor McGonagall has been less so, to say nothing of Filch."

Lyra folded her arms.

"Professor McGonagall doesn't like me," she countered, completely ignoring Filch as a nonentity.

"No. At present, I don't imagine she does."

Lyra blinked. She had expected her mother to object.

She continued.

"Professor Flitwick describes you as exceptionally capable when you choose to apply yourself. Professor Vector says much the same. Professor Sprout tells me that your work and attitude towards class material is excellent but your conduct to other students tiresome."

"I don't even do anything in Herbology."

"You apparently talk."

"Everyone talks."

"Everyone's mother is not receiving letters about it."

Lyra sank slightly into her chair as her mother lifted another parchment.

"Professor McGonagall has been particularly thorough. She tells me that you are argumentative, vindictive, disruptive, prone to gloating, incapable of losing gracefully and possessed of what she describes as an extraordinary fixation upon Harry Potter."

Lyra shot upright.

"I am not fixated on Potter!"

Narcissa raised one eyebrow.

"He's fixated on me!"

"Is he?"

"Yes!"

"How many letters do you suppose Lily Potter would have received about you, had she lived?"

Lyra opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She knew better than to bad-mouth Lily Potter ever since she made the mistake of doing so in front of her godfather. That 100-point loss for Slytherin was her personal record. She'd never had a worse detention than what Snape gave her, and she knew her mother held the woman in equally high regard.

Narcissa set the parchment down.

"Exactly."

"Potter starts half of it."

"Which leaves who as the responsible party for the other half?"

That stopped her again.

Narcissa leaned back.

"You seem to be under the impression that I have called you here to determine whether Harry Potter is a well-mannered, high-bred, and sociable boy."

"No."

"Then stop telling me about Harry Potter."

Lyra's cheeks burned.

"He gets away with everything."

"And?"

"And everyone loves him because he's Harry Potter, and he's good at Quidditch, and he thinks he's so—"

Narcissa struck her without warning. One moment Lyra was speaking and the next her mother's hand cracked across her cheek hard enough that she could feel it turning red.

Narcissa's voice remained perfectly level.

"You are thirteen years old."

"I know."

"Look at me."

Lyra hadn't realized she had turned to stare at the floor in mortification.

"You are thirteen years old," Narcissa repeated. "You became a young woman this summer, my diminished toiletries are constant reminders of it. I allowed you a great deal of foolishness as a child because children are foolish. That indulgence is ending."

Lyra felt herself flush much hotter than the slap had made her.

"Mother—"

"No. You will hear this once, and I expect not to have to repeat it."

Narcissa folded her hands in her lap.

"A lady does not shriek insults across corridors. She does not manufacture public scenes because somebody has irritated her. She does not make herself ridiculous merely to make somebody else uncomfortable. She does not permit another person to control her behavior simply by being present."

"I don't—"

Narcissa's eyes narrowed and Lyra closed her mouth.

"Your father and I have provided you every advantage we could. You have intelligence, education, a respected name, considerable means, and access to people whom most witches will never meet. Yet after two years at Hogwarts, what have you done with those advantages?"

Lyra didn't answer the rhetorical question.

"You have spent two years creating enemies and not one day creating allies."

Those words hurt more than the slap.

"I have friends."

"You have Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. Two girls whom you like and who like you. I am pleased that you have them. They are not a sufficient network to serve you when you graduate from Hogwarts."

Lyra frowned.

"I'm thirteen."

"Precisely. Which means you have only a few years in which to make the connections that will serve you for the rest of your life."

Narcissa picked up one of the letters again, although she did not look at it.

"You appear to think Hogwarts is a world unto itself. It is not. We pure-bloods treat it as a waiting room for the adult world, a perspective your father and I seem to have failed to impart on you."

Lyra's frown deepened.

"The children around you will grow up. In five years they will begin entering the Ministry, Gringotts, St Mungo's, businesses, newspapers, schools, Wizengamot offices and respectable families. Some will become important. Some already are."

Her mother paused for dramatic effect.

"Harry Potter certainly is."

Lyra's expression soured before she could stop it.

Narcissa noticed.

"You needn't like him."

That surprised her.

"I don't?"

"Of course not. I am your mother, not a priest. You may dislike whomever you please."

"Oh."

"But you will stop antagonizing him."

Lyra's face fell.

"Mother!"

"Completely."

"But—"

"Your rivalry with Harry Potter is over! It ends now! Your father agrees and is absent because he knew I would be doing enough yelling for both of us."

"You can't just decide that!"

"I believe I just did."

"But what if he starts something?"

"Then you will conduct yourself with dignity."

"So I'm supposed to let him do whatever he wants?"

"No. You are supposed to discover that there are responses available to you besides behaving like a spoiled eight-year-old."

Lyra glared and her mother accepted the foul gaze. She noticed her mother was waiting patiently for Lyra's manners to kick in, and they did. She made use of the breathing and facial control exercises her godfather had taught her and her glare turned back into the usual serene countenance expected of a lady.

"Better."

"This isn't fair."

"Life seldom is."

"He hates me."

"Perhaps."

"And I hate him."

"So you've repeatedly informed me."

"He'd laugh if I suddenly started being nice to him."

"Then don't suddenly start being nice to him."

Lyra stared.

Narcissa gave the smallest sigh.

"I am not instructing you to chase Potter around the castle asking to be his friend. I am instructing you to end a feud that is detrimental to both you and this family. Make amends on your part and expect none on his."

She leaned forward.

"You will return to Hogwarts. You will speak to him privately, or as privately as circumstances reasonably allow. You will acknowledge that your behavior toward him has been unacceptable. You will inform him that you intend to leave him alone from this point onward, and you will request the same courtesy from him."

Lyra looked horrified.

"You want me to apologize?"

"Yes."

"To Potter?"

"Do you know another surviving Potter?"

"He'll never let me forget it."

"Then perhaps you should make the apology memorable for some reason other than your humiliation."

Lyra slumped back.

For a while the only sound in the room was the fire.

"What am I supposed to say?"

"That is for you to decide."

Lyra stared into the fire.

Potter.

Stupid, smug Potter. Potter and his stupid glasses and stupid scar and stupid broom and stupid talent for somehow coming out ahead every single time she—

They sat there in silence for a few moments as Lyra let hate fill her mind. Eventually she cleared her brain of such poison and stood.

"May I go?"

"One more thing."

Lyra sank back down.

Narcissa's expression softened. It wasn't by much, but enough.

"You are not being punished for growing up."

Lyra's eyes flicked toward her.

"This summer changed nothing about what you are permitted to enjoy. You may fly. You may get dirty. You may take Care of Magical Creatures, despite your father's inexplicable campaign against it. You may argue. You may compete. You may be loud when loudness is appropriate."

Lyra hadn't expected that.

"When I tell you to behave like a young lady, I do not mean that you must become Pansy Parkinson."

Lyra snorted and Narcissa almost smiled.

"I mean that you must learn self-command. There is nothing ladylike about allowing Harry Potter to determine your mood every time he walks into a room. And I cannot emphasize this enough, he is somebody who will be very important for a very long time. And a poor enemy to have. He is deadly, Lyra."

"Deadly?"

"Surely you've heard the rumors?"

"What? That he murdered Quirrell and slew a basilisk?"

"Your aunt personally examined the remains of the former, and your father the latter. Let me assure you, there is truth in the rumors and you are playing with fire when you antagonize him. If self-interest isn't enough to cease your self-appointed rivalry, perchance self-preservation will?"

Lyra allowed her disbelief to show on her face, but she realized her mother wasn't joking. A basilisk? With a sword?

"All right," she said, her voice coming out weaker than she intended.

She stood up to leave.

"And Lyra?"

"Yes?"

"If I receive another letter from Minerva McGonagall describing an extraordinary fixation upon that boy, I shall frame it in the greeting room for all visitors to see."

She knew she would too. She nodded and opened the door to leave.

"One final piece of advice. An apology is more convincing when accompanied by a gesture of good faith. Consider making one." Lyra frowned. "What sort of gesture?" "If I choose it for you, it isn't yours."

---

Harry's classmates had been back at Hogwarts for less than a day when Professor McGonagall brought Lyra Malfoy into the Gryffindor common room.

There were few things that could have silenced the room faster.

Malfoy, for her part, looked as if strolling into their domain was as natural as a morning walk through Sprouts – non-magical – flower beds. She stood just inside the portrait hole with her back straight and her hands clasped before her, wearing an expression of studied calm that Harry usually associated with her being particularly pleased with herself.

McGonagall stood behind her. His head of house said nothing as she motioned Malfoy forward.

To nobody's surprise the blonde girl made a beeline for Harry, who looked to either side of him to find Ron giving him an encouraging nod and Hermione absent. Right, they were still giving her the silent treatment and her them.

"What?" he said, the word coming out ruder than he imagined.

Malfoy's nostrils flared.

He cleared his throat.

"Right, sorry. How may I help you Malfoy?"

"That's better. Good evening to you too, Potter."

Ron lowered the chess piece he'd been about to move.

That sounded more like Malfoy. Harry relaxed slightly. Whatever strange thing was happening, at least she hadn't been replaced by a Polyjuiced impostor.

Malfoy looked around the common room. Every single person from first through fourth year was staring now. Fifth through seventh were all currently occupied in quieter places of the castle for study. Even Fred and George had abandoned whatever they had been doing in the corner.

For just a moment Malfoy looked toward McGonagall who nodded encouragingly. She even smiled at the Slytherin! It did the trick, because Malfoy drew herself a little straighter.

"My mother has imparted on me the importance of making nice with you, Potter, and she is right."

Harry blinked and Ron made a choking noise. That earned him a kick under the table. Harry felt obliged to deliver it in Hermione's absence.

Malfoy's cheeks went faintly pink, but she continued.

"My behavior toward you has been unacceptable, regardless of whatever slights I perceive you to have made against me."

Harry waited for the punchline. As if this was all some kind of sick joke. But none came. Malfoy was staring directly at him with an expectant, almost hopeful – dare he say frightened – expression.

"Are you apologizing?"

"Yes, Potter."

"To me?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"There is only one of you standing in front of me."

Someone behind Harry sniggered. Malfoy's eyes darted toward the sound, but she caught herself before saying anything.

Harry glanced at McGonagall again but the professor's face revealed absolutely nothing.

Malfoy continued.

"For the last two years I have treated our mutual dislike as though it were some sort of competition. Upon reflection, this has been childish, embarrassing, and a poor use of both of our time."

Harry didn't know what to say to that.

He looked at Ron as if he suddenly wasn't worse at social interactions than he was. But nothing had changed since their blow up at Hermione over the Firebolt and the redhead simply shrugged.

"I also accept that you will always be better than I am at Quidditch and Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Was that… was that a compliment? Malfoy saying Harry was better than her at something was strange enough. Malfoy saying Harry was better than her at two things might have been a sign of the apocalypse.

Malfoy lifted her chin.

"But I am still the best student in our year in everything else, so I will settle for that as a source of pride."

"Hermione's got better marks than you," Ron said defensively, which seemed a little hypocritical with the current state of their friendship.

Malfoy's expression became distinctly more comfortable.

"No, she doesn't."

Ron frowned.

"Yes, she does."

"Not anymore. Granger's marks have slipped this year. Mine haven't."

That took some of the wind out of Ron. Harry wished Hermione had been there to contradict her.

"So that's it?" Harry asked. "You're just giving up?"

"I am ending our rivalry. I am not asking you to be my friend, I just want us to not be enemies."

"Same thing."

"No, it isn't."

"What about Hagrid's class?"

Malfoy's eyebrows drew together.

"What about it?"

"You took Care of Magical Creatures."

"Yes. Astounding powers of observation, Potter. Sorry! Let me try that again," she said, catching herself. "What does Care of Magical Creatures have to do with this? Please, I am confused."

"If you're not trying to cause trouble for me anymore, are you dropping it?"

For the first time since entering the room, Malfoy's careful composure vanished completely.

"I take that for my pleasure, Potter, and if my father couldn't yell me into giving it up, my distaste for you won't cut it either. Or did you think I took it as my elective to antagonize you? Get over yourself. Not everything everyone does is about you."

Harry opened his mouth. Then closed it. They had chosen their electives near the end of second year.

He hadn't known what Malfoy was taking. Which meant Malfoy couldn't possibly have known what he was taking either. Which meant Malfoy had chosen Care on her own.

"Oh."

"Quite."

Harry hadn't ever wondered why Malfoy had chosen Care of Magical Creatures. He supposed he'd simply assumed it had something to do with him. That seemed rather stupid now that he thought about it.

Malfoy took a breath.

"The point is that I will not deliberately cause problems for you again. I ask that you extend me the same courtesy. We need never speak again, save class projects in which I hope we can both be cordial."

Harry studied her and found her to appear sincere.

"All right," he said quietly, then with more conviction. "Yeah! All right. I won't start anything either. Peace."

Malfoy deflated before his very eyes.

"Good."

Ron looked between them.

"So we're all just done, then?"

"There is one other matter," Malfoy said.

Of course there was.

Harry's suspicion returned with a vengeance.

Malfoy turned toward the portrait hole.

"Millicent?"

The girl in question entered the common room. Now all eyes were on Millicent Bulstrode, and she looked as though she wanted the floor to swallow her. She hunched her shoulders in a vain attempt to make herself look smaller and her eyes were fixed on the carpet.

She was carrying something long and thin wrapped in green cloth.

Lavender whispered something into Parvati's ear.

Bulstrode saw them and her face reddened. He thought he saw her shake a little and averted his eyes.

Parvati seemed to notice and elbowed Lavender.

Malfoy walked over to Bulstrode and took her package.

"Thank you."

Bulstrode practically thrust the package into her hands before fleeing.

Malfoy carried it back to Harry.

Ron leaned toward him.

"Why's her peace offering broom-shaped?"

Malfoy stopped.

"How did you know it was a peace offering?"

Ron looked at the package.

Then at her.

"It's broom-shaped."

Malfoy stared at him for several seconds. Harry had the peculiar impression that she was fighting a war with her inner glib responses. And somehow won.

Then she pulled away the green cloth and Harry's heart jumped.

He knew what it was before the last fold fell away.

A Nimbus 2001.

The polished black handle gleamed in the firelight. The gold lettering seemed almost to glow. Harry had ridden against seven of them the previous year. He knew exactly how fast they were.

The entire Slytherin team had received them from Lucius Malfoy. And Lyra was holding hers.

Ron made a strangled noise beside him.

"Bloody hell."

To his surprise, McGonagall didn't chastise him for that. Perhaps the surprise of that was why Harry didn't give him the second kick he deserved.

They were the first words she had spoken since entering the room.

Malfoy stepped forward. Then, to Harry's astonishment, she went down on one knee. There were several gasps as Malfoy held the Nimbus horizontally across both hands like a knight presenting a sword.

"Your Nimbus was destroyed."

Harry's amusement disappeared.

For a moment he saw it again: the Whomping Willow, branches whipping through the storm, the remains of his broom scattered across the grass.

He had loved that broom.

Malfoy continued despite his internal pain.

"I am no longer playing Quidditch. I have no use for this one. I offer it in restitution for the trouble I have caused you, and as a gesture of good faith."

Harry stared between her and the broom as if a Boggart was playing tricks on him.

"You're giving me this?"

Malfoy's face was turning pink again.

"That is generally what offering something means."

Harry reached for it.

His fingers touched the handle. For one extraordinary moment, all he could think about was flying. He could be back in the air tomorrow! He could practice with the team again. Gryffindor wouldn't have to find him some ancient school broom. He wouldn't have to sit around wondering whether McGonagall was ever going to return the Firebolt.

The Firebolt!

Harry's hand stopped and his stomach sank.

He looked at the Nimbus. Then at Malfoy. Then at Professor McGonagall.

Hermione's voice appeared in his head with irritating clarity.

It could be jinxed.

Harry once again wished Hermione were there. She would know what to do.

It was an uncomfortable thought, considering he'd spent most of Christmas being angry with her for doing exactly what he was now thinking needed to be done.

Malfoy was still kneeling in front of him.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Professor?"

McGonagall looked at him.

"You confiscated my Firebolt because it might've been jinxed."

The room became very quiet and Malfoy's expression went blank.

Harry knew that something had gone wrong. Unfortunately, he'd already started.

"But you're not going to check this one?"

Malfoy's face changed color. It went from pale to pink and then rapidly toward scarlet. Harry suddenly became aware that everyone in Gryffindor Tower was looking at him with either barely contained mirth or offense on Malfoy's behalf.

"You think I—"

"I didn't say you did anything!"

"You think I cursed my own broom?!"

"No! I just meant—"

"You ungrateful little—" she began.

Instead of finishing, she flung the broom at him – sideways, not like a spear – and he caught it by reflex. In one motion she stood up and turned heel.

She was red all the way to her ears now. Harry had seen her angry plenty of times. He had seen her furious. He had seen her screaming insults at him across corridors. He had never seen her look quite like this.

She barely turned her head towards him as she spoke.

"I came into your common room," she said through clenched teeth. "I apologized to you in front of your entire House. I promised to leave you alone. I gave you my broom, and you think I'm trying to curse you?"

"I didn't say—"

"Oh, stuff it, Potter!"

Lyra marched straight toward the portrait hole and McGonagall stepped aside to let her pass.

Malfoy stopped beside her, pointing an angry finger at her.

"You tell my mother I tried!"

Then she climbed out.

His head of house sighed, rubbed her eyes, and gave Harry a sad look.

"She did try, Mr Potter."

Then McGonagall left.

The portrait swung shut behind her.

Harry looked around and all of his present housemates were looking everywhere except him. Save Fred and George who looked like Christmas had just swung back around.

"Wow, Harry. How does your foot taste?" Fred asked.

"Any hints of athlete's foot or lint giving it that aftertaste you seem to like?" George added.

---

The next morning, Harry discovered that Hagrid had somehow managed to arrange a Care of Magical Creatures lesson which required him, and all of the boys present, to do absolutely nothing.

Ordinarily, this would have been impossible. Hagrid considered standing within biting distance of something enormous and ill-tempered to be an essential part of education. Today, however, Professor Grubbly-Plank was helping him with the lesson, and waiting for them in the paddock were four unicorns.

Three were fully grown, their coats so brilliantly white that the snow around them looked grey by comparison. The fourth was a calf, smaller and gold rather than silver-white, with long spindly legs and a little nub where its horn would eventually grow.

Harry had barely finished admiring them before Grubbly-Plank divided the class.

"Girls forward. Boys stay where you are."

Ron raised his hand.

"Why?"

"Unicorns prefer maidens, Mr Weasley."

Ron lowered his hand.

"What are we supposed to do?"

"Observe and take notes."

Ron looked deeply offended. Harry couldn't blame him. The girls were already approaching the unicorns while the boys had been relegated to standing along the fence. This felt particularly unfair to Harry, and presumably Ron, after what they went through in a memorable detention involving unicorns.

"Seems a bit unfair," Ron muttered.

"They can't help it," Hagrid said. "Just how unicorns are. Particularly the older ones. Young 'uns can be a bit friendlier."

"That one's friendly," Harry said.

The calf had wandered directly into the group of girls.

Lavender and Parvati were delighted with one of the mares at the edge of the paddock. Pansy Parkinson was trying very hard to look dignified while scratching the stallion behind one ear. Even Millicent Bulstrode had joined them after Lavender called her over, although she seemed uncertain about why Lavender Brown had suddenly decided they were allowed to speak to one another.

When the calf reached Malfoy, Harry couldn't help but stare.

Malfoy dropped any pretense of dignity. She crouched down and threw both arms around its neck. The calf responded by pushing its muzzle against her face and Malfoy laughed.

Harry had heard Malfoy laugh hundreds of times. Usually somebody else was involved. Most often Harry.

This wasn't that laugh. The lack of a sneer is what made it different.

She buried one hand in the calf's golden mane and scratched vigorously with the other, grinning as it pushed harder against her until she nearly toppled backward into the snow.

Harry remembered what she'd said the night before.

I take that for my pleasure, Potter.

She really did. Harry felt slightly stupid. She hadn't seemed to be enjoying it up until then, but to be honest, none of them had. Between the Hippogriff that came within inches of maiming her and the flobberworms the classes had been a bit of a disaster.

Malfoy rubbed her nose against the calf's muzzle and the calf started chewing her hair.

She squealed. Actually squealed.

Harry's eyebrows shot up.

He hoped Ron hadn't heard that. He wasn't sure Malfoy would survive Ron knowing she was capable of making that noise. Perhaps sensing that she was being watched, Malfoy looked up.

Her grey eyes found Harry's.

For a moment neither of them moved.

Then Malfoy grinned and stuck her tongue out at him.

Harry understood the message as "Haha! Boys drool, girls rule."

Malfoy's eyes widened as she caught herself in the act. Her hand flew over her mouth and the grin vanished behind her fingers.

Harry understood she'd forgotten the truce. It was less than a day later and she'd already broken it.

Harry waved a hand in front of his face dismissively, unable to stop the amusement from showing on his face.

Malfoy lowered hers slightly.

Harry waved again.

It's fine.

She still looked uncertain.

Harry glanced to his left to find Ron was watching Hagrid. He glanced to his right to see nobody seemed to be paying attention.

Harry put his palms together beneath his chin and made an apologetic grimace.

Please.

Malfoy rolled her eyes. Then she shrugged.

Fine.

Peace restored.

She turned back to the unicorn calf.

Harry should have turned away too but he didn't. The calf had discovered Malfoy's tie and was attempting to eat that too. Malfoy laughed again and pulled the fabric out of its mouth.

Harry found himself smiling and stopped himself.

Why was he smiling?

---

Notes:

Lyra is a constellation, for those of you who don't know. And the women in the Black family love naming their girls after constellations. Draco himself kind of did name his son Scorpius/Scorpio.

This story was commissioned by Xahn and Borks in light of the Malfoid trend. Special thanks to them and my patrons.

 

[NonsensicalRants]

Correction: The black family loves naming ALL of their children after constellations

 

[Siu Venus]

"How many letters do you suppose Lily Potter would have received about you, had she lived?"

Click to shrink...

A fuck ton. Harry would have been as spoiled as Malfoid.

Narcissa struck her without warning. One moment Lyra was speaking and the next her mother's hand cracked across her cheek hard enough that she could feel it turning red.

Click to shrink...

Oh yeah, she's Bellatrix's sister.

Dobby get her ass like you did her husband.

Your father agrees and is absent because he knew I would be doing enough yelling for both of us."

Click to shrink...

Bullshit, he would have folded that's why she didn't want him there.

"Your aunt personally examined the remains of the former, and your father the latter. Let me assure you, there is truth in the rumors and you are playing with fire when you antagonize him. If self-interest isn't enough to cease your self-appointed rivalry, perchance self-preservation will?"

Click to shrink...

Oh yeah, Andromeda, she's still kicking around.

Surprised that Narcissa still calls her sister.

Harry looked around and all of his present housemates were looking everywhere except him. Save Fred and George who looked like Christmas had just swung back around.

Click to shrink...

God damnit Harry. Also I forgot how much I disliked the twins.

Why was he smiling?

Click to shrink...

And so it begins.

 

[Sir Borks-a-Lot]

Chef's kiss. Literally what I needed to get a smile on my face. You really have no idea how thankful I am!

 

[NonsensicalRants]

A fuck ton. Harry would have been as spoiled as Malfoid.

Oh yeah, she's Bellatrix's sister.

Dobby get her ass like you did her husband.


Bullshit, he would have folded that's why she didn't want him there.


Oh yeah, Andromeda, she's still kicking around.

Surprised that Narcissa still calls her sister.



God damnit Harry. Also I forgot how much I disliked the twins.


And so it begins.

Click to shrink...

You are correct on why Lucius isn't there.

Also No mention of Snape docking points and handing out detention for insulting Lily? Saw that once before(with draco) but I can't recall the fic

 

[Siu Venus]

You are correct on why Lucius isn't there.

Also No mention of Snape docking points and handing out detention for insulting Lily? Saw that once before(with draco) but I can't recall the fic

Click to shrink...

Yeah, but that does run into the issue of Lily not only being a muggleborn but also the mother of their Lord's greatest enemy.

Snape having any kind of fondness for her would not help in his role as the spy.

 

[Balorak146]

Why the hell is Harry the bad guy here? He's right to be worried, not to mention right to call out McGonagall for her blatant hypocrisy.

They say to beware Greeks bearing gifts, but that goes equally true for Miss 'You'll be next, Mudbloods'.

 

[Xahn]

I was wheezing reading this. thank you.

Why the hell is Harry the bad guy here? He's right to be worried, not to mention right to call out McGonagall for her blatant hypocrisy.

They say to beware Greeks bearing gifts, but that goes equally true for Miss 'You'll be next, Mudbloods'.

Click to shrink...

From my read of it, she probably did, but harry stuck his foot in it before she could confirm if she had.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Love it!

 

[FoxGirlFan]

Very happy I read this. Looking forward to more!

 

[NonsensicalRants]

Chapter 2:​

---

Harry had been on Malfoy's Nimbus 2001 for less than thirty seconds before nearly ramming into Angelina. He jerked the handle sideways to avoid a bludger and the Nimbus obeyed rather more enthusiastically than he'd intended.

Harry shot past Angelina, missed her by perhaps a meter, and found himself facing the opposite direction before he'd quite decided he wanted to be.

"Sorry!"

Angelina hovered where he'd left her.

"Getting used to it?"

Harry looked down at the polished black handle between his hands.

"It's touchy."

"Again!" Wood shouted from below.

Harry leaned forward and again The Nimbus leapt faster than he intended.

That was the other thing he'd noticed. His Nimbus 2000 had been quick from a standing start, but the 2001 seemed almost impatient. The moment he put his weight forward it surged beneath him, accelerating so quickly that the hoops at the other end of the pitch seemed to rush toward him.

Harry flattened himself against the handle.

Faster.

The wind tore at his robes. Fifty meters. Thirty. Twenty.

He passed between the center hoop and pulled upward. The Nimbus climbed beautifully, but Harry frowned.

"Again!" Wood shouted.

Harry circled back.

They continued putting the new broom through the paces like this for another half an hour.

The Nimbus 2001 was promptly subjected to straight runs, dives, climbs, stops, starts and a slalom Wood had constructed out of whatever he could find in the equipment shed. Fred and George had spent ten minutes hitting Bludgers at Harry from increasingly unreasonable directions until Wood finally told them that testing maneuverability was not the same thing as trying to kill their Seeker.

Harry wasn't certain the twins would ever understand the distinction.

He landed beside Wood.

"Well?"

Harry looked back across the pitch.

"It's fast."

"We know it's fast."

"Not as fast as my 2000."

That got Wood's attention.

"You're sure?"

Harry nodded.

He'd been trying to decide that since they'd started. The difference wasn't enormous. If he'd never owned his old Nimbus, he doubted he would have noticed.

But he had.

"At the top end," Harry said. "The 2000 was faster."

Wood frowned at the broom.

"Acceleration?"

"This one's better."

"Maneuvering?"

"Much better! Too good, if you ask me."

Harry lifted off again and demonstrated. He pushed forward, shot perhaps twenty feet, then pulled hard to the left. The Nimbus snapped around so quickly that Harry's legs swung outward.

He then turned right and left again. He could almost zigzag through the air.

"See?"

Wood did.

So did Angelina.

"Give me that."

Harry landed and surrendered the broom.

Angelina kicked off.

She took it around the pitch once, then twice. On the third circuit she started cutting sharply from side to side, banking around imaginary opponents.

When she came down, she was grinning.

"Oh, I like this."

Alicia held out her hand.

"I want a go."

Harry spent the next fifteen minutes watching his broom make its way through half the team.

Alicia liked it.

Katie loved it.

Fred didn't.

"This thing's awful."

George, hovering beside him, nodded.

"Terrible."

Angelina looked offended.

"You two are mad."

"No," Fred said. "Watch."

He flew toward one of the practice Bludgers George had released. Harry watched Fred line up his swing and the moment Fred twisted his body to put his weight behind the bat, the Nimbus shifted beneath him. His strike still connected, but not cleanly. He had to overextend to hit it, and only did so with the very tip of his bat.

He traded with his twin and George repeated the near failure.

"See?" he yelled down as he came in for a landing.

Wood was watching thoughtfully.

George came down beside his brother.

"You move your hips when you swing."

"Yeah, we have to," Fred said. "Can't hit a bludger far with just the strength in your arm."

"Exactly! You don't want the broom listening to everything your body does when you use your whole body to swing a bat," Wood said.

Harry hadn't noticed it while dodging the Bludgers. For him the sensitivity had been useful. The smallest movement sent the broom somewhere else.

For the twins, that was exactly the problem.

Fred nodded.

"Finally, someone appreciates me."

"I was talking about Beaters more generally."

"Oh."

Wood took the Nimbus from George.

Harry expected him to make a circuit but instead, Wood rose only as high as the goal hoops.

He moved sideways and stopped. But the deceleration was sluggish and he ended a few meters left of the hoop he was trying to guard. He moved back to the center and stopped again.

Then shot toward the left hoop and nearly overshot it. Which was an improvement from earlier when he did overshoot it. He corrected, tried the same thing several more times, then descended wearing an expression of disgust.

"No."

Harry laughed.

"You barely flew it."

"I flew it enough."

Wood handed it back to him.

"I'd take my Cleansweep over that any day."

There was a brief silence as Harry stared at him.

"Your Cleansweep?"

Wood looked offended.

"I'm a Keeper, Potter."

He pointed toward the hoops.

"I don't need to cross the pitch faster than anyone. I need to be exactly where I intend to be. That thing wants to shoot off every time I move. And its braking is aweful. Great acceleration, even better turning, but stopping isn't so good."

He pointed at Angelina.

"For you, though—"

"Brilliant," she said.

Wood nodded.

Harry could almost see the pieces fitting together behind his eyes.

"Fast acceleration. Sharp turns. Changes direction immediately. A Chaser spends half the match trying to get around somebody or trying not to get hit by a Bludger."

Katie nodded.

"And the other half trying to get open for a pass."

"Exactly."

Wood pointed at Fred and George.

"Too sensitive for Beaters."

Then himself.

"Far too sensitive for a Keeper."

His eyes finally settled on Harry.

"But for a seeker?"

Harry looked down at the Nimbus.

That was a harder question. He liked it. He liked it a lot. It was beautifully made. It accelerated faster than anything he'd ever ridden, and once he'd adjusted to the sensitivity he could make it do things his Nimbus 2000 couldn't have managed nearly as easily.

But he imagined a glint of gold at the other end of the pitch. A Snitch breaking into open air and his old broom beneath him.

"I'd take my 2000 any day."

Wood nodded as though he'd expected the answer.

"Why?"

"Faster top speed."

"You said barely, though"

"Still faster. And when chasing the snitch I wind up diving or charging in straight lines."

Harry ran his hand along the handle.

"And it was steadier too. If I'm chasing the Snitch in a straight line, I don't need it jumping every time I move my arm trying to catch a flying golf ball."

Wood nodded again.

"Still a passable Seeker broom, then?"

"Yeah."

"But not the best."

Harry smiled faintly.

"Not for me."

There was nothing wrong with the Nimbus 2001. It was objectively better at some things than his old broom had ever been. It just wasn't his Nimbus 2000.

For a moment Harry saw broken twigs scattered across wet grass. The whomping willow dancing antagonistically behond. He pushed the memory away.

Angelina suddenly snapped her fingers.

"Wait."

Everyone looked at her.

"The Slytherins all have these."

Fred grinned.

"We had noticed."

"No. All of them."

The grin faded. Wood looked at Harry's broom and Harry understood a moment after recognition dawned on his captains face.

"Malfoy's father bought seven. One for every player," Alicia said, almost vibrating in place as she held onto the punchline they'd all just grasped.

Katie began to smile. Wood looked toward the three hoops at the Slytherin end of the pitch as though seeing them for the first time.

"Their Keeper is riding one of these?"

"Yep," Harry said trying not to giggle.

Fred looked at George. George looked at Fred. Then both looked toward Wood.

Wood's expression became almost pitying.

"They put their entire team on the same broom, and for most of them it is a terrible broom!"

"They're expensive," Angelina said. "That's probably as far as Malfoy's father thought."

"Seven players, seven expensive brooms."

Wood looked personally offended.

"But they're not right for every position!"

Wood sounded personally offended by the concept.

George began counting on his fingers.

"Three Chasers with excellent brooms."

"One Seeker with a pretty good one," Fred added.

"Two Beaters whose brooms won't stay still when they swing."

"And a Keeper riding the worst possible broom for a Keeper."

They all considered this for a few moments.

Fred was the first to say it.

"No wonder we keep beating them."

---

Lyra stared at the last inch of blank parchment.

"You're done," Pansy said.

The exasperation was clear in her friend's voice, but Lyra ignored her.

The essay was eleven and a quarter inches done. Hagrid had asked for twelve inches on the uses of unicorns and their various parts, and Lyra had covered nearly everything worth covering. Unicorn tail hairs were highly valued as wand cores. Powdered unicorn horn was used in a number of potions. She'd even included the proper methods of collecting both without harming the animal, which seemed like the sort of thing Hagrid would appreciate.

There was, however, one use she hadn't mentioned.

Blood.

Lyra dipped her quill into the ink.

Drinking unicorn blood could keep a person alive even when they were on the brink of death. The price was a cursed life from the moment the blood touched their lips.

It was relevant. It was interesting. Most importantly, it would fit.

"You're done!" Pansy repeated.

Hagrid already knew that Lyra knew. He was the one who had told her.

Potter knew too. So did Granger.

Lyra glanced sideways at Pansy.

Pansy didn't. Or at least she shouldn't. Millicent didn't either. Most of their Hogwarts wouldn't. Lyra had gone through the library trying to find references to it and found none until she got home and asked her father.

He had the same look as the time she asked him about buying her first bra. It was hilarious how easy it was to make her father uncomfortable, but that time was no laughing matter. He had been adamant on expressing how esoteric, and dark, that information was and that it was wrong for Hagrid to have told her that as a first year student.

She understood why. Some idiot teen trying it just to see what would happen is something she was all but certain had led to a lawsuit against Hogwarts sometime in the past.

Lyra looked back at the parchment.

Suppose Hagrid read it and mentioned it in class. Or handed the essay back where someone else could read it. Or Pansy looked over her shoulder right now and asked what she'd written.

Then Pansy would know.

Then Millicent might know.

Then anyone they told would know.

And sooner or later somebody was going to ask why Lyra Malfoy knew what happened when a person drank unicorn blood.

What was she supposed to say?

Hagrid told Potter, Granger and me while we were wandering around the Forbidden Forest looking for whatever was killing them?

That didn't sound good either. It could kick up a hornet's nest and a Ministry investigation which everyone would hate.

Worse, someone might assume she'd learned it at home. Then they might tell their parents. And their parents might know her father. Who would be very angry at her for not understanding the importance of not sharing that information around willy-nilly.

Lyra frowned.

All of that for what? Another few inches of parchment? Perhaps an extra mark?

Granger probably knew enough to put it in her essay anyway. Lyra's fingers tightened around the quill. That was irritating.

"You and Granger are the reason professors give us word limits." Pansy groaned as she crossed her arms.

Lyra looked up and glared at her friend for comparing her to Granger. Again.

"I only have eleven inches." Lyra complained.

"It's not like Hagrid is going to measure it." she said.

"Professor Hagrid." Lyra corrected with a smirk to show she wasn't serious about showing that oaf the proper respect.

"I've been sitting here for twenty minutes watching you try to find another inch of things to say about unicorns."

"I have more to say."

"Of course you do."

Lyra looked back down at the parchment and relented, putting down her quill at last.

Pansy blinked.

"Really?"

"My essay is finished."

"Oh, thank Merlin."

Lyra rolled the parchment before she could change her mind and Pansy gathered up her own things.

"So what are you going to do now?"

Lyra slid the essay into her bag.

"Go to bed eventually."

"No. Now that you've quit Quidditch. You've got a lot of free time all of a sudden."

That gave her pause. She hadn't actually thought about that.

Quidditch practice had swallowed several afternoons every week since second year, and most early mornings. Matches took up Saturdays. Flint had even held extra practices whenever he decided Gryffindor was doing something he saw as threatening, which seemed to happen approximately twice a week.

For the most part she took the extra morning hours to sleep in, which was divine, but it did leave her just wandering the halls in the afternoons.

Now none of that was her problem.

"You could play Gobstones," Pansy suggested.

"No."

"Wizard chess?"

"Eh."

"Careful now, you almost gave some consideration to that one."

"I've played Wizard chess. It's alright. Not a daily activity for me."

Pansy rolled her eyes. Lyra leaned back in her chair defiantly.

There were clubs, of course. Hogwarts seemed to have a club for nearly everything if one looked hard enough. Most of them had never interested her.

The Dueling Clubs had. The one with wands, not the fencing club that only Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs saw value in. Much to Madame Hooch's chagrin. Boys loved giving that woman extra work.

She was about to suggest it to Pansy when the stone entrance to the common room opened. All of the third years looked over to see their head of house entering.

They all stood up respectfully as Professor Snape swept through the entrance.

That wasn't unusual. It usually meant he was going to give the entire house a dressing down. The two Gryffindor girls following him were stranger still

Lyra's curiosity was piqued.

Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil stepped into the Slytherin common room carrying what appeared to be half the magazine rack from Hogsmeade between them.

Whispered conversations erupted around them, consisting mostly of conjecture. Lyra thought she had an idea of what was going on but kept it to herself. The knowing glances her housemates gave her were unappreciated, but she never expected word of her public self-prostration to remain a secret for more than a night.

Millicent Bulstrode shot out of an armchair across the room.

"You came!"

Lyra's head turned toward her.

You came?

Lavender grinned.

"Of course we came."

"We brought everything," Parvati added, lifting her stack of magazines as evidence.

Millicent looked simultaneously delighted and terrified.

"Come on."

She hurried them towards the girl dormitory.

Parvati paused and looked back at Professor Snape.

"Thank you for bringing us, Professor. We'll be back in Gryffindor Tower before curfew. Promise."

Snape looked at her with his usual inscrutable expression, saying nothing.

Millicent took Lavender by the arm and began pulling her toward the girls' dormitory. Parvati hurried after them.

Snape watched all three disappear up the stairs.

"Hm."

He turned and walked back out through the still-open wall.

Lyra waited until it closed behind him before she looked at Pansy.

Neither needed to say anything. They went after Millicent.

By the time Lyra and Pansy reached the dormitory, Millicent had already changed into her nightgown.

She stood in the middle of the room with her arms stretched out while Parvati Patil wrapped a measuring tape around her shoulders. Lavender had claimed one of the unused beds and was emptying magazines across it.

Lyra stopped in the doorway.

"How did you change that fast?"

Millicent gave her a look.

"It's a little thing called magic. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

"Or do the Malfoy matrons not have to learn household and clothes-changing charms?" Lavender asked, sticking her tongue out at her.

Lyra opened her mouth but her brain didn't catch up to the strange situation and she couldn't come up with something to say.

Brown had just made fun of her. Except she hadn't, exactly. She was smiling. Millicent was smiling. Even Pansy seemed to think nothing had happened.

Strange.

Lyra decided to let it pass and took a seat on the edge of her bed.

"What are you doing?"

"Thirty-seven," Parvati said.

Millicent frowned. "Thirty-seven what?"

"I'm measuring you. Inches."

"Yes, I know that. Thirty-seven what?"

"Shoulders."

Millicent's face fell.

"Oh."

Parvati lowered the tape.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"That wasn't a nothing sort of 'oh.'"

Millicent folded her arms and Lavender stopped arranging magazines.

Pansy stepped farther into the room.

"What's wrong with your shoulders?"

"They're too broad."

Pansy looked at them.

"No, they're not."

"They are."

"For what?"

Millicent gave her an irritated look.

"For a girl."

Pansy's expression changed.

Lyra knew that expression. Someone had just said something that Pansy considered stupid, and Pansy was deciding exactly how stupid she was allowed to tell them they were. Millicent caught it too.

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"I was about to ask who told you that."

"Nobody had to tell me. I own a mirror."

"So do I."

Pansy pointed at her own nose.

Nobody said anything.

"Exactly."

Millicent's arms loosened but remained crossed.

Pansy walked over and took the measuring tape from Parvati.

"I spent most of first year trying to find hairstyles that made my nose look smaller."

"Did any work?" Lavender asked.

"No. I had stupid hair and the same nose."

Millicent snorted.

"So I stopped."

"You still complain about it."

"Of course I complain about it. I don't have to like my nose just because I've accepted that it's attached to my face."

That seemed perfectly reasonable to Lyra.

Pansy stepped around Millicent and tugged lightly at one shoulder.

"Stand up straight."

"I am standing straight."

"No, you're doing this."

Pansy hunched forward slightly.

"I don't do that."

"You absolutely do," Lyra said.

Millicent glared at her but obeyed and straightened. Now Lyra had to reconsider her earlier estimation. The girl's shoulders were, in fact, very broad.

She immediately started to slump again under their attention. Pansy slapped her lightly between the shoulder blades.

"Stop."

"But now they look bigger. That's the opposite of what I want!"

"Maybe that's the problem." said Parvati.

Millicent stared at her.

Parvati reclaimed her measuring tape.

"Let's finish first."

She took several more measurements while Lavender began sorting through the magazines. Lyra watched with mild fascination. She had never realized getting dressed could require this much arithmancy.

"You could draw attention somewhere else," Parvati said thoughtfully. "You've got a bust we don't. We could draw attention to that?"

"No." Millicent said with such venom as to leave no disagreement.

"All right."

Parvati returned to the magazines.

"What about her?" Lavender asked.

Millicent leaned over.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'd look ridiculous."

"You don't know that."

"She has shoulders about half the width of mine."

Lavender looked from the photograph to Millicent.

"Oh. Right."

For several minutes the four of them went through photographs of witches in increasingly elaborate robes while Lyra watched. Millicent noticed and motioned her over.

Lyra felt completely out of her element and could only shrug.

"Why are you asking for her input?"

Lyra frowned.

"Excuse me?"

"What do you have to contribute miss perfect? All you ever have to do is brush your hair in the morning."

"I do considerably more than brush my hair."

Pansy looked at her.

Lyra crossed her arms at having her internal thoughts spat back out at her. She really had won the genetic lottery. Straight blonde hair, clear skin, blue eyes. She never had to wear makeup and always felt left out with other girls on conversations like this.

"I wear eyeliner sometimes."

"Exactly."

Millicent turned sideways toward the mirror beside her bed. She straightened her back, frowned, hunched, straightened again, then turned the other way.

"I look manly. That's the problem. I don't want to look like a boy in a dress."

Lavender tilted her head.

"Then don't."

Millicent looked at her through the mirror.

"Brilliant. Why didn't I think of that?"

"No, I mean don't wear things that make you look like you're trying not to."

That earned Lavender four confused looks.

She scrambled across the bed and started digging through the magazines she'd brought.

"Wait. I have something."

She pulled one from underneath a copy of Witch Weekly.

Unlike every other magazine on the bed, the pictures on its cover weren't moving. And they had brilliant color.

Lyra leaned forward.

"Muggle sports?" she asked, letting a little disgust into her voice.

Lavender flipped through it.

The photographs were strange. Completely still, for one thing, and full of women wearing vibrant clothing unlike anything Lyra had seen at a Quidditch match.

Lavender stopped on a page and turned it around.

"What about her?"

A woman stood on a track with her arms raised above her head. She was tall, with broad shoulders and visibly muscular arms. Nothing about her looked delicate.

Lyra waited for Millicent to reject her. To her surprise, her classmate's face lit up.

"She's beautiful!"

Lyra had to do a double take and look closer at the image. She realized Millicent was right. She was beautiful. Covered in sweat, visibly exhausted even without the moving picture, but it was a triumphant woman standing in front of a track. She was positively glowing with pride.

Lavender flipped several pages and showed another woman. Then another. Runners, swimmers, gymnasts and sports Lyra didn't recognize at all. Some were slender. Some weren't. Some had shoulders every bit as broad as Millicent's and others had arms that made Millicent's look positively dainty.

None of them looked manly. Not even the actual muscle-bound women in what looked like a weight-lifting competition.

Lavender stopped on another photograph and Lyra took the magazine from her before Millicent could.

The woman in the photograph was holding something like a large fly swatter. She was caught in the middle of swinging it, one arm extended, her whole body behind the motion. She had seen athletic women before. There were professional female Quidditch players. There were female Aurors. Her own mother rode when she felt like it.

But they didn't usually try to look strong. This woman did. And it looked good.

Lyra flipped back through several pages.

"Perhaps we've been looking at this wrong." she said.

Pansy seemed to reach the same conclusion.

"Stand up straight again," Lyra said.

Millicent sighed but obeyed, only for Pansy to reach over and pull her shoulders farther back.

"I am standing straight!"

"No, you're standing like you're hoping nobody notices you have shoulders. There."

Millicent turned toward the mirror. The difference was more dramatic than Lyra expected. Standing properly only made her look broader, but after looking through Lavender's magazine that no longer seemed like something they needed to fix. With her back straight and her chin up, Millicent didn't look like a boy.

She looked like she could throw one, sure, but nobody would mistake her for a boy. Not with that chest.

Millicent seemed to realize it too. A tentative smile appeared as she turned sideways, examining herself from another angle.

Lyra looked back at the magazine in her hands. All these women seemed to have Millicent's "problem" except it wasn't a problem for them. They owned it. None of them could pass for runway models, but that's not what their bodies were made for. They had sporty bodies. Millicent has a sporty body.

"How good are you on a broom?" Lyra asked.

Millicent turned away from the mirror. "What?"

"A broom. How good are you?"

"Fine, I suppose."

"Fine?"

"I passed Flying. I fly at home all the time."

"That means you managed not to fall off."

"So did everyone else."

"Neville Longbottom didn't."

"That wasn't his fault."

"It was partly his fault."

Millicent put her hands on her hips. "Why are we talking about this?"

"You should try out for Quidditch. There's a recent opening on the team," Lyra finally said.

For a moment Millicent merely stared at her before breaking into laughter.

"I can't be a Seeker!"

"Obviously."

Her laughter stopped.

"Lyra."

"What? You can't."

"The opening on the team is Seeker."

"The opening is on the team," Lyra corrected. "Flint can move people around."

Now that she'd thought of it, Lyra couldn't believe she hadn't considered Millicent before. She was strong, heavier than most girls their age, and built solidly enough that knocking her from a broom would take some effort. Speed mattered for every position, but a Seeker was about the only thing Lyra could confidently say Millicent shouldn't be.

"You could be a Keeper."

Millicent glanced at herself in the mirror.

"Or?"

Lyra smiled.

"Beater."

Interest immediately replaced the doubt on Millicent's face.

Pansy groaned.

"Oh, don't encourage her to hit things with a stick."

"What?"

"You've spent two years hitting people without a bat. Mostly Vincent and Gregory."

Millicent grinned.

"Imagine what I could do with one."

"Exactly!" Lyra pointed at her.

"The team doesn't need a Beater," Pansy reminded them.

"The team needs better Beaters."

"You're going to tell them that?"

"I don't play for them anymore. I can tell them whatever I like."

Millicent turned back to the mirror. She hadn't started hunching again. If anything, she seemed to be testing how far she could pull her shoulders back before it looked silly.

"You really think I could do it?"

"You'd have to learn," Lyra admitted. "But you're already built for it. Besides, the team could use a woman's touch now that their only girl is gone."

"You quit yesterday," Pansy said.

"And look how quickly they've deteriorated."

That set Millicent laughing again, and Lavender took advantage of the distraction to reclaim her magazine.

"If you're going to look like an athlete, we should at least see what the clothes look like."

Twenty minutes later, Millicent stood in front of the mirror wearing a transfigured copy of the leotard from Lavender's magazine and flexing both arms above her head like the weightlifter several pages later.

She looked ridiculous. But then again, they all did.

Pansy was having considerably less fun.

"Brown."

Lavender looked up from where she and Parvati were sitting on the floor.

"Hmm?"

Pansy stared at herself in the mirror with undisguised horror. She had made the mistake of letting Lavender choose an outfit for her and was now wearing the Muggle swimsuit from one of the photographs.

"This is underwear."

"It's a swimsuit."

"It is underwear you get wet in."

Lavender burst out laughing.

"You wear it in public?"

"At the beach."

Pansy slowly turned to look at her.

"With boys?"

"Yes."

Pansy looked back at the mirror.

"Muggles are insane."

Lyra agreed, which was why she'd chosen tennis. The skirt was a little short, but otherwise the outfit was perfectly respectable, and the racket looked rather fun. Unfortunately, none of them owned one.

A bedside lamp was approximately the right size.

"Ready?" Lavender asked.

Lyra planted her feet and held the lamp in both hands the way the woman in the photograph held her racket.

"No," Pansy said from behind her. "You have to turn sideways more."

Lyra looked over her shoulder.

"You've never played this either."

"I can see the picture."

"She's right," Parvati said.

"Quiet."

Lavender had balled a pair of socks together.

"Ready?"

Lyra raised the lamp.

"Now!"

Lavender threw.

Lyra swung.

The lampshade went flying across the dormitory.

Lyra was still standing there holding the naked lamp like a tennis racket when the others collapsed into laughter, and whatever dignity she'd intended to preserve lasted another three seconds before she joined them.

They all got detention for Lavender and Parvati missing curfew.

---

Notes:

Strange chapter, I know, but I have a lot of setting and characterization I need to set up. Starting with:

Yes. Lyra Malfoy is a girl. Might have laid it on a little thick with the young teen girls being normal young teen girls scene. But I think I nailed the message.

I also really want to establish that the Hogwarts experience is much more normal than we, readers of Harry Potter, have been led to believe. His experience is very much atypical. If you actually think about it, if you attended Hogwarts, would it have been THAT much different from middle/high school? Not really. Outside of weirdos like us who would constantly be trying to break magic, it would be like an live-in academy/charter school. A very fun and exciting one, but socially? Pretty normal.

And of course the world in this story does not revolve around Harry Potter. Plenty of interesting or important things happen without him. Also to you frothing feminists, did I pass the Bechdel test? Lol.

Expect much more character development for side characters in this story. Case in point, Millicent. But others will be important.

Special thanks to Seru for commissioning me to continue this story. He's a regular and he liked it so much that when the previous commissioners said they couldn't afford more, he ponied up. I am actually blown away by the love I'm getting for this. And of course to my Patrons.

 

[trashtaker]

Hey man those 1 sentences conversations is kinda hard to keep track of who's speaking and stuff

 

[NonsensicalRants]

Hey man those 1 sentences conversations is kinda hard to keep track of who's speaking and stuff

Click to shrink...

I've made a note of that. Will go through and mention speakers where necessary. Tomorrow.