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]

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.

 

[NonsensicalRants]

Chapter 3:​

---

Harry Potter sat on the edge of his four-poster bed, staring at the silvery cloak spread across his knees.

It was Saturday morning, and the rest of Gryffindor Tower was already stirring with excitement. Another Hogsmeade weekend had arrived, and Harry was determined not to spend it sitting around the castle while everyone else enjoyed themselves. He had his father's Invisibility Cloak and he had several hours before anyone would begin wondering where he'd gone.

There was only one problem.

The Dementors.

Harry glanced toward the window, beyond which the grounds lay beneath a pale February sky. He hadn't seen a Dementor since the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, but he knew they were still stationed around Hogwarts, and there was no telling where they might be patrolling today. The thought of encountering one while alone, without a teacher or another student to help him, made his stomach tighten.

On the other hand, Professor Lupin had been teaching him how to defend himself against them. Harry had made some progress, even if he hadn't yet managed anything impressive. Perhaps he was underestimating himself? There was an easy enough way to find out.

He set the cloak aside, drew his wand, and stood in the narrow space between his bed and Ron's. The other boys were hogging the shower room, so he had the 3rd year dorm to himself.

For a moment, Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on the happy memory he'd been using during his lessons. He imagined his parents together, laughing as they watched him take his first steps, his mother reaching out to catch him when he stumbled and his father cheering him on. It wasn't a real memory, of course. He had no way of knowing whether anything like it had ever happened, but he liked to believe it had, and sometimes that was enough to make the picture seem almost real.

Harry opened his eyes.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A feeble wisp of silver escaped his wand, drifted a few inches through the air, and dissolved before it reached the foot of his bed.

He stared at the empty space where it had vanished.

That was supposed to protect him from a Dementor?

Harry tried to imagine himself standing in a deserted Hogsmeade alley with one of the creatures bearing down on him, its rotten hands reaching out from beneath its cloak. He imagined himself desperately waving his wand and produced a little puff of silver smoke.

He lowered his wand.

For several minutes, he remained standing beside his bed, turning the problem over in his mind. Mr Weasley had warned him that Sirius Black was after him, and Professor McGonagall had refused to let him visit Hogsmeade because she was worried about his safety. Even Professor Lupin, who had been more understanding than most of the teachers, had made it clear that learning the Patronus Charm would take time.

Harry looked down at the Invisibility Cloak. Whenever he wore it, he felt a little closer to the parents he had never known, as though he were sharing in some of the adventures his father must have enjoyed at Hogwarts. But the memory he'd just summoned was still fresh in his mind, and suddenly the prospect of risking his life for a few hours in Hogsmeade seemed much less appealing.

"What the bloody hell am I doing?" he asked himself, feeling his voice crack as he did so.

He folded the cloak carefully, returned it to his trunk, and shut the lid. There were plenty of things Harry wanted to do that day, but getting himself killed because he couldn't wait another year for a trip to a sweetshop wasn't one of them.

He sat back down on his bed and collected himself.

Another lonely day at Hogwarts while all of his friends were off having a field trip. That was really the crux of it. Hogwarts was still the furthest thing from boring imaginable, but without his friends there to share his enjoyment of it, any adventure he might have would be as dull as the gray sky outside. If only Ron or Hermione would hang back.

Hermione!

For a month now he'd been arguing with Ron to make amends with her, but he just couldn't cross that bridge after her cat had killed his rat. Harry couldn't pick a side, as he himself knew he would need years to forgive somebody if their pet killed Hedwig. Especially if they adamantly refused to apologize for it.

Why were all of them so hardheaded? And why was he being distant with Hermione because of it anyways? Yeah the Firebolt still stung, but he had the 2001 now. He really didn't have that much to still be angry about, and yet he'd continued to avoid confronting her for a month now.

Dancing around his friends had been exhausting, way more exhausting than an outright fight. So why had he been avoiding a fight as if it were somehow worse?

The Nimbus 2001 standing on the wall beside his bed spoke to him then.

Lyra-bloody Malfoy had slithered into the lion's den and publicly apologized to him, and yet he, a supposedly brave Gryffindor, couldn't walk 20 meteres to do the same?

"Bollocks," he chastised himself as he stood up and crossed the room.

Harry left the dormitory and made his way down to the common room, where a handful of younger students were gathered around the fireplace. Most of the older Gryffindors had already gone down to breakfast, and the room was unusually quiet for a Saturday morning.

He looked toward the staircase leading to the girls' dormitories.

Hermione would probably still be upstairs. She hadn't seemed enthusiastic about visiting Hogsmeade lately, and Harry suspected she was planning to spend the day studying, as she had spent so many of her weekends since Christmas. He and Ron had been miserable company for weeks, and Hermione had borne the worst of it. Between the two of them, they'd managed to make Hermione feel unwelcome in her own common room.

With that thought firmly in mind, Harry crossed the common room and started up the girls' staircase.

He made it three steps before the staircase gave a sudden lurch beneath his feet and a woman's wail filled the common room.

"What the—?"

The steps flattened into a smooth stone slope, and Harry found himself sliding backward with his arms flailing wildly. He landed at the bottom with a tremendous thump, his glasses knocked crooked and his dignity worse for wear.

A burst of laughter came from somewhere above him.

Harry pushed himself upright and discovered that several girls were looking down from the landing, visibly delighted by what they'd just witnessed. One was a younger Gryffindor he vaguely recognized as a classmate of Dennis, along with Fay from his own year and several upperclassmen.

"Trying to sneak into the girls' dormitories, Potter?" one of the older girls called.

"Didn't think you were that sort of boy," another added, grinning.

Harry straightened his glasses and climbed to his feet, feeling his ears grow hot.

"I wasn't trying to sneak anywhere. I was looking for Hermione."

That only made them laugh harder.

"Oh, Hermione, is it?" said the older girl, exchanging a meaningful glance with her friends. "Well, why didn't you say so?"

"Because I didn't expect the stairs to throw me across the room!"

"You could have asked someone to fetch her," the younger girl pointed out.

"She comes up to our dormitory all the time."

"Oh! Does she?" a girl he was almost certain was a prefect chortled.

The girls exchanged another round of amused looks.

So. Girls could come up to the boys dorm but not the other way around? The Hogwarts founders really overestimated the virtue of teenage girls in comparison to boys.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn't wanted an audience for this, but he was tired of putting it off, and if Hermione heard what he had to say from someone else first, perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

"Tell her I've been a complete jackass to her," he said, looking up at them. "She knows it, but I need her to know that I know it too. And tell her I want nothing more than to spend today with her."

For a moment, the girls simply stared at him.

Then the oldest one's expression changed into a positively wicked grin.

"Oh, really?"

Harry frowned. "What?"

"You want to spend the whole day with Hermione Granger?"

"Yes."

"While everyone else is off enjoying themselves in Hogsmeade?"

"That's what I said."

"All alone together?"

Harry stared at her, finally realizing where this was going.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!"

The younger girl dissolved into giggles, while one of the others pressed a hand to her mouth and whispered something that made her friend turn scarlet.

"Should we tell Ron?" the older girl asked sweetly. "I mean, he might want to know what his best mate's planning to get up to with his girl while nobody's around."

"She's not my— She's not his, That's not what I meant!"

"Honestly! You girls are bigger perverts than the boys!"

Harry looked up.

Hermione Granger stood on the landing in her dressing gown, her bushy brown hair even more unruly than usual, glaring at the other girls with a mixture of indignation and embarrassment. But when her eyes met Harry's, the indignation faded, and for the first time in weeks, he saw the beginnings of a smile.

"Give me a few minutes to get dressed, then. I'll be right down."

"Take your time."

She disappeared up the staircase, accompanied by another round of giggling from the girls, one of whom gave Harry an exaggerated wink before following her.

Harry decided that the safest place to wait was beside the fireplace. While there, he pretended to be interested in the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. It made ignoring the occasional looks he was receiving from the remaining Gryffindors easier.

Hermione returned about two minutes later, dressed in a warm jumper and skirt, with her hair brushed into something approaching order. She was carrying a book beneath one arm, which Harry thought defeated the purpose of taking a Saturday off.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Whenever you are."

They left Gryffindor Tower together and wandered down the corridors, passing a few students hurrying toward the entrance hall to join the last of the Hogsmeade crowd. Harry felt a brief pang of disappointment at the sight, but it passed quickly enough when Hermione began telling him about a troublesome essay Professor Vector had assigned her as extra credit.

For a while, they talked about classes, the weather, and the upcoming Quidditch matches, carefully avoiding the subjects that had kept them apart for so long. It was pleasant, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he owed her more than a declaration shouted up a staircase.

"Hermione, about the Firebolt—"

"Harry, you don't have to."

"No, I do. I've been a right prat about the whole thing, and I know you were only worried about me. I should've—"

Hermione stopped walking and turned toward him.

"Harry, please."

He fell silent.

"I heard what you said to those girls, and I believe you. I know you're sorry, and I'm sorry we've been fighting too." She gave him a small, rather hopeful smile. "You said you wanted nothing more than to spend today with me, didn't you?"

"Yeah. I meant it."

"Then let's do that."

Harry considered arguing that he still owed her a proper apology, but the expression on her face convinced him otherwise.

"All right."

"Good." Hermione looked around the empty corridor. "So, what should we do?"

Harry hadn't thought that far ahead. He'd spent the morning planning to sneak into Hogsmeade, followed by several minutes trying to work up the courage to speak to Hermione. Now that he'd accomplished the latter, he found himself entirely without a plan.

"Well, I suppose we could go to the library."

Hermione brightened.

"Or," Harry added quickly, "we could do something that doesn't involve homework."

"Harry!"

"It's Saturday, Hermione. I thought we were supposed to be enjoying ourselves."

"I enjoy reading!"

"I know. But you also enjoy talking. So let's just walk and talk. More of what we're already doing."

She gave him an indignant look, but the smile tugging at her mouth rather spoiled the effect.

They resumed walking, and Harry began thinking of things they could do around the castle. There was the Quidditch pitch, though it was way too cold outside, and Hagrid might appreciate a visit, provided he wasn't busy with the usual trouble in the Forbidden Forest.

Then he remembered something he hadn't told her.

"Oh! I've been having private lessons with Professor Lupin."

Hermione turned toward him with naked interest.

"Really? What sort of lessons?"

"He's teaching me how to fight Dementors. There's a spell called the Patronus Charm that's supposed to drive them away."

"I've read about that! It's terribly advanced magic, Harry. How are you getting on?"

"Not brilliantly," he admitted. "I can make a bit of silver smoke, but that's about it. Professor Lupin says I'm improving, though."

Hermione looked impressed all the same.

"Well, of course you are! Most wizards can't produce a proper Patronus at all. How does he teach you without bringing an actual Dementor into the castle?"

"He's got a Boggart that turns into one whenever I look at it. It's horrible, but at least I know what I'm dealing with."

"That's clever," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I suppose it would be much safer than practicing with a real one."

"Yeah. He's been really good about it, actually. And sometimes we talk afterward. He knew my parents, you know."

Hermione stopped so abruptly that Harry took another step before noticing.

"He what?"

"He went to school with them. He knew my dad pretty well, apparently, and he's told me a few things about what they were like."

"Harry, that's wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry shrugged.

"I dunno. We haven't exactly been talking much lately."

Her enthusiasm faltered, and for a moment they stood looking at each other, both remembering the weeks they'd wasted.

"Well," Hermione said at last, "we're talking now, aren't we?"

"Yeah."

"And it's Saturday, so Professor Lupin might not be busy. Why don't we go and see him? I'd love to hear about your parents, and I'm sure he'd be happy to tell you more."

Harry considered the suggestion. Lupin had always been friendly during their lessons, and he certainly hadn't seemed to mind Harry asking questions about his father.

"All right. Let's go see if he's in."

They made their way toward the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, talking more easily now that the awkwardness between them had begun to fade. Harry found himself telling Hermione about some of his less successful Patronus attempts, including the time he'd managed to produce enough mist to obscure his own glasses, which she found funnier than he had at the time.

When they reached Lupin's classroom, Harry knocked on the door.

"Come in!"

Professor Lupin was sitting behind his desk, surrounded by several stacks of parchment and an enormous book that looked as though it had survived a vicious encounter with a Kneazle. He glanced up as they entered, and his tired expression brightened.

"Harry! Granger! This is a pleasant surprise. I thought most of the students would be in Hogsmeade today."

"Hermione and I decided to stay behind," Harry explained.

"Did you now?" Lupin looked between them, apparently noticing something in their expressions. "Well, I'm glad to see you both. What can I do for you?"

"We were wondering whether you might tell us a little about Harry's parents," Hermione said. "Harry mentioned that you went to school together."

Lupin's expression softened.

"Ah. Yes, I did. I knew James and Lily very well." He closed the battered book and gestured toward the desks nearest his own. "Of course, I'd be happy to. Pull up a chair."

Harry and Hermione sat down, and Lupin cleared away some of his paperwork before looking at Harry again.

"Before we begin, though, I'm curious. I know Hermione isn't fond of Hogsmeade at the moment, but I thought you were rather desperate to visit the village, Harry."

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Actually, Professor, I was going to sneak out this morning."

Lupin's smile disappeared.

"You were?"

"Under my dad's Invisibility Cloak."

For a moment, Lupin simply stared at him.

"James's cloak? You have it?"

Harry nodded.

"Dumbledore gave it to me in first year. Well, he sent it to me for Christmas."

"Good heavens." Lupin leaned back in his chair. "And it still works?"

"Yeah. Perfectly."

"Remarkable. Most invisibility cloaks lose their enchantments eventually, but James's was always rather special." Lupin shook his head, smiling faintly at some private recollection, before returning his attention to Harry. "But you said you were going to sneak out. What changed your mind?"

"Well, I was thinking about the Dementors," Harry began. "They're still guarding the grounds, aren't they? And I thought if I ran into one on the way to Hogsmeade, I ought to be able to defend myself."

"Quite right," Lupin agreed. "And?"

"So I tried casting the Patronus Charm this morning, without the Boggart. I thought maybe I'd do better without a Dementor breathing down my neck."

"How did it go?"

"Pathetically," Harry admitted. "I thought about my mum and dad, just like you told me to, and I put everything I had into it. All I got was this little wisp of silver smoke. It didn't even reach the end of my bed."

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look, but Lupin merely nodded for him to continue.

"And I thought, what's that going to do against a real Dementor? Blow up its nose?" Harry shook his head. "I couldn't even protect myself from one, let alone Sirius Black if he found me out there."

"That's a rather sensible observation."

"Yeah, well, it took me long enough to make it. Mr Weasley warned me about Black before I came back to Hogwarts, and Professor McGonagall wouldn't sign my Hogsmeade form because she was worried about him. I thought they were both being unfair, but then I started thinking about what would happen if they were right."

Harry hesitated, remembering the cloak spread across his knees and the happy family he'd imagined while trying to cast the spell.

"I was sitting there with my dad's cloak, thinking about my parents, and I suddenly realized I was about to risk getting myself killed just because I wanted to go to Honeydukes." He gave an embarrassed little laugh. "So I asked myself what the bloody hell I was doing and put the cloak back in my trunk."

Lupin regarded him for a long moment, his expression softening.

"And you made that decision entirely on your own?"

"Well, yeah. Nobody else was there."

"Then I'm very proud of you, Harry."

"You are?"

"Very much so. Knowing when not to take a risk is something even grown wizards struggle with, and I can assure you that your father was especially dreadful at it when he was your age."

Harry grinned at that, although he wasn't entirely certain whether he ought to feel complimented.

"And I suspect Professor McGonagall would be very pleased to hear that you've reconsidered her advice," Lupin continued. "She worries about you, Harry, often more than the rest of us. Which is saying a lot."

"I know. I suppose I've been pretty unfair to her, too."

Hermione glanced at Harry, and he knew she was thinking about the Firebolt.

Lupin noticed the look.

"Something else?"

Harry sighed.

"Well, there's the broom. Hermione told Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt someone sent me for Christmas, and I was angry because they took it away to check for curses."

"An anonymous Firebolt?" Lupin asked, raising his eyebrows. "While Sirius Black is believed to be trying to get into Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded.

"Then Hermione was correct to report it."

Hermione sat up a little straighter.

"I thought it might have been sent by Black," she explained. "Harry wouldn't listen to me, and I was afraid something terrible might happen if he tried to fly it."

"A perfectly reasonable concern," Lupin assured her. "A broom can be enchanted in all sorts of unpleasant ways, and an expensive gift from an unknown sender is precisely the sort of thing that ought to be examined carefully."

Harry looked down at his hands.

"I know that now. I just wish she'd told me what she was going to do."

"I understand," Lupin said. "But sometimes protecting a friend means doing something they won't thank you for."

Harry's mind turned to Neville's ill-fated attempt to stop them from going after the Stone. He was suddenly glad Hermione hadn't gone that drastic with the two of them over the Firebolt, or else their friendship would have been far more damaged.

"Well, that's all behind us now." Hermione said.

Harry smiled at her.

"Yeah. It is."

Lupin regarded them both with evident satisfaction before rising from his chair.

"Now, I believe I promised you some stories about your parents. Would either of you care for a cup of tea?"

They accepted, and Lupin busied himself with a kettle and three mismatched cups. When he returned to his desk, Harry leaned forward eagerly.

"So, what was my dad like at Hogwarts?"

Lupin chuckled.

"James? Oh, where to begin? He was clever, popular, a talented Chaser. He also had three very close friends who did very little to discourage him."

"Who were they?" Hermione asked.

"Well, there was me, of course. Then there was Peter Pettigrew, a rather timid boy who followed James around like a shadow."

He hesitated before continuing, and Harry could tell he was doing the mental calculations of how to balance his professional conduct with personal conduct. The latter seemed to win out.

"And then, there was Sirius Black."

Harry's smile vanished.

"Sirius Black?"

Lupin nodded slowly.

"Yes. Sirius and James were practically brothers. They were inseparable from the moment they met on the Hogwarts Express."

"But he became a Death Eater!"

The words came out more sharply than Harry intended, and Lupin's expression darkened.

"Yes," he said quietly. "It's something all of us, even Severus, still can't wrap our heads around."

Harry stared at him.

"I don't understand. If they were such good friends, why would he do something like that?"

"I wish I knew, Harry. I've asked myself that question more times than I care to remember."

Lupin gazed into his tea for a moment before continuing.

"There were a great many good children at Hogwarts in those days who went on to do terrible things. I remember Amycus and Alecto Carrow, for instance. Twin brother and sister, rather like Fred and George Weasley, if you can imagine it. Those two could make an entire classroom laugh, including the teachers, and they were forever competing with James and Sirius to see who could get away with the most outrageous prank. How they wound up in Ravenclaw is beyond me."

"What happened to them?" Hermione asked.

"They became Death Eaters. Both of them." Lupin sighed. "I wouldn't have believed it if someone had told me while we were at school. Barty Crouch was another surprise, a rare Hufflepuff going to the dark side, though he was a little younger than us. There were others, of course, but Sirius..."

He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Harry, if someone had told me that one of our friends would meet us on the battlefield, I would have suspected Peter before Sirius. I might even have suspected myself over him. That's how certain I was of him."

"Then what happened?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. War changes people, sometimes in ways nobody could have imagined."

For a while, none of them spoke. Harry found himself trying to picture his father laughing with Sirius Black, sharing jokes and getting into trouble together, and the thought left him feeling sick.

Lupin seemed to notice.

"But that's enough about the war," he said, setting down his cup. "You came here to hear about your father's school days, and I promised you a few stories. I think I know just where to begin."

He settled back into his chair, a mischievous smile slowly spreading across his face.

"Now, this happened during our fifth year, on a Saturday not unlike today. James had decided that the sign outside the Three Broomsticks was in desperate need of improvement..."

---

Lyra Malfoy had had quite enough of Hogsmeade for one afternoon.

After collecting her lunch, she slipped away from the crowded village and followed the winding trail toward the Shrieking Shack. She hoped to find somewhere quiet to eat without Pansy asking her another question about how Muggle women dressed so scandalously. She had barely settled herself on a dry patch of ground and unfolded the parcel containing her roast beef and potatoes when she noticed something moving among the trees.

A pair of dark eyes watched her from beneath a tangle of filthy black fur.

Lyra froze, then gasped in delight.

"Oh, aren't you gorgeous!"

The enormous black dog regarded her warily as she scrambled to her feet, clearly uncertain what to make of the small blonde witch advancing upon him with both hands outstretched.

"Look at you! You're absolutely enormous! Come here, handsome. Come on, I won't hurt you."

The dog took a cautious step backward, but his eyes kept returning to the food behind her. Lyra followed his gaze and immediately understood.

"Oh, you poor thing. You're starving, aren't you?"

She tore off a generous piece of roast beef and held it out on her palm. The dog hesitated before approaching, sniffed her fingers, and swallowed the meat so quickly that Lyra scarcely saw him chew.

"Good heavens! When did you last eat?"

She sat down and placed the clay casserole dish on the cloth that had been wrapped around it. A quick wave of her wand later and it was steaming.

The dog approached hesitantly, but after the first lick he began to all but inhale the food.

While he did this she took the opportunity to drag her wand across his fur, stopping whenever she encountered a particularly stubborn mat to work it loose with her fingers. The dog stood remarkably still throughout the procedure, although he occasionally turned his head to watch her with an expression she could almost have mistaken for embarrassment. Once the matted hair was untangled, she turned her attention towards cleaning it. She knew delousing charms existed, but she wasn't familiar with them. The animal-safe variant of the Scourgify charm, on the other hand? That was well within her abilities. The dog didn't even flinch at the sensation.

So he was from a magical family? Or used to magical cleaning at least.

"Wherever is your master?" she asked as he finished licking the ceramic bowl clean.

She was still fussing over his face when a familiar voice interrupted her.

"Whoa! The Grim!"

Lyra looked up to find Ron Weasley standing a few yards away, grinning broadly.

"It's a dog, Weasley."

"I know it's a dog. It's an inside joke." Ron glanced around the clearing, then sighed. "Shame Harry isn't here. He'd have had a fit."

Lyra narrowed her eyes.

"Why would Potter have a fit over a dog?"

"Oh, you haven't heard? Trelawney's been telling him he's going to die since the first day of term. Keeps going on about the Grim, this great big black dog that's supposed to be an omen of death. Woooo! Harry's seen one a couple of times, too."

Lyra looked down at the enormous creature leaning against her legs.

"You're telling me Potter thinks he's being haunted by a dog?"

"More or less. Trelawney's completely barking, if you ask me."

Ron approached, crouching beside the animal with a ridiculous grin.

"Who's the big bad Grim, then?" he cooed. "Is it you? Are you the horrible monster trying to kill my best mate? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!"

The dog sniffed Ron's outstretched hand, then suddenly bounded forward and nearly knocked him onto his backside.

"Oi!"

Lyra laughed.

"Sit, you!"

To their mutual surprise, the dog immediately planted his hindquarters on the ground.

Ron looked at Lyra, who looked back at him.

"Hang on," he said. "Try another one."

"Lie down."

The dog obediently lowered himself onto his belly.

"Roll over."

He rolled onto his back, paws waving briefly in the air, before returning to his feet.

"Up!"

He stood on his hind legs, towering over Lyra, who clapped her hands in delight.

"Oh, you're a clever boy! Aren't you just the cleverest thing?"

"He's brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. "Try shake."

Lyra offered her hand.

"Shake."

The dog placed one enormous paw in her palm, and Lyra's delight faded as she noticed the condition of its pads. She turned the paw gently, revealing several deep cracks and abrasions, including a hideous cut that had only partly healed.

Ron leaned closer.

"Oooh! That is gnarly."

Lyra frowned as she examined the injury.

"You're a long way from home, aren't you?"

The dog lowered his head and rested his muzzle against her shoulder.

"If Mum was here, she could patch that up," Ron remarked. "Or if we were in Diagon Alley, we could take him to the Magical Menagerie."

Lyra glanced up.

"Your mother's a mediwitch?"

"Not yet. She started training ages ago, but then the war happened, and between that and having three kids, she couldn't manage school as well. She started taking classes again last year, though. We're all really proud of her."

Lyra raised her eyebrows and made a small, impressed gesture, although the indifferent grunt accompanying it rather spoiled the effect.

"Hm. Well, I'm taking him back to Hogsmeade to see if somebody has some Wiggenweld Potion. These poor paws need looking after."

Ron watched her gently lower the dog's foot to the ground.

"I'll give you a Galleon if you adopt him as your Hogwarts familiar."

Lyra's head snapped up.

"Excuse me?"

"A Galleon. If you keep him."

She glowered at him, offended that he imagined she could be bribed with such a paltry sum, but then another question occurred to her.

"Why do you care?"

Ron stared at her as though she'd asked why people looked forward to their birthday.

"Are you kidding? The look on Harry's face when he sees this beast will be priceless!"

"He's your friend!"

"And what are friends for if not to pick on each other?" Ron replied cheerfully. "Besides, I owe him one. He'll get me back later."

Lyra stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"When did you start being cool, Weasley?"

"Around the same time you did."

"Touché."

She looked down at the dog, who was watching the exchange with interest.

Her mother had been quite clear that she was to stop antagonizing Harry Potter, and Lyra had every intention of obeying her. Mostly. Certainly she wasn't going to start insulting him in the corridors again, or picking fights with his friends.

But frightening him with an enormous black dog wasn't really bullying, was it? Not if Weasley was in on the joke. And she would be giving a perfectly lovely animal a home in the process.

Really, Mother could hardly object to that.

"All right," she said at last. "I'll see if I can bully Father and Professor Snape into letting me keep him. But you keep this under wraps, especially from Potter."

Ron grinned.

"Only if you promise not to spring the prank until I'm there to see it."

"Deal!"

They shook hands, much to the apparent fascination of the dog sitting between them.

"Come on, handsome," Lyra said, gathering up her things. "Let's get those paws looked after."

The great black dog rose and fell into step beside her as she started back toward Hogsmeade, while Ron headed off toward the village square, still chuckling to himself.

The Hogsmeade post office was pleasantly quiet when Lyra arrived, with dozens of owls perched along the walls and rafters, occasionally hooting or ruffling their feathers as customers came and went. Her new companion followed her inside without causing any trouble with the owls. Though he did attract a curious glance from the witch behind the counter.

"Good afternoon," Lyra said politely. "Could I have a Hogwarts familiar registration form, please?"

"Certainly, dear." The witch rummaged beneath the counter and produced a sheet of parchment. "We keep plenty of those around, what with the pet shop just down the street. You'll need your Head of House to approve it, of course."

"Of course. Thank you very much."

Lyra took the parchment to a small writing desk and began filling in the particulars, while the dog settled obediently beside her chair.

Really, she couldn't imagine there would be any trouble getting permission. There were so few Slytherin girls in her year that four beds in their dormitory were sitting empty, so finding somewhere for him to sleep would hardly be a problem. He was remarkably well trained, clearly accustomed to magic, and had behaved himself perfectly throughout their walk back to the village. Besides, Professor Snape was her godfather, and she couldn't imagine him refusing her something as reasonable as a pet.

All she needed was his signature.

She filled in her own name, house, and year, followed by the animal's species, sex, and a brief description of his appearance. When she reached the space marked Name of Familiar, however, she stopped.

"Oh, that's right. You haven't got a name, have you?"

The dog raised his head.

Lyra tapped the end of her quill against her chin, studying his enormous paws and the scars she'd discovered beneath them.

Then she smiled.

"You know, you remind me of Scarface. So I'm going to call you Scarfoot. You can be his better-mannered, better-looking cousin or something."

With a satisfied little nod, she dipped her quill into the inkpot and wrote Scarfoot in the empty space.

---

Notes:

For those of you keeping track of the differences with canon, this was the Hogsmeade trip where Harry was supposed to get the Map and learn about Sirius' status as his godfather. Neither happened, so he does not have the map (yet) nor know the severity of Sirius' supposed betrayal. This is very important because Harry having the map COMPLETELY ruins any suspension of disbelief for Sirius walking around Hogwarts in dog form.

Yes, it's contrived, but it has to be done for this story to work. I'll make up for it, I swear.

Special thanks to Seru for commissioning this chapter and the Patrons who support me.

 

[NonsensicalRants]

Chapter 4:
​

---

Severus Snape sat behind his desk, regarding the parchment in his hands with an expression of profound suspicion. He looked at the parchment, then at his goddaughter, then at the enormous black dog sitting beside her chair.

Lyra Malfoy smiled angelically. She held her hands clasped in front of her face as if in prayer to match her pleading expression.

"He's a very good dog, Uncle Severus," she assured him. "Honestly, I've never met one so well behaved. He knows all sorts of commands, he doesn't bark at people, and he's perfectly accustomed to magic. I cleaned him up myself, and he didn't even flinch!"

Scarfoot sat perfectly still, his great shaggy tail wagging across the dungeon floor.

"And he was in such a dreadful state when I found him. Starving, filthy, and his poor paws were all cut up. I couldn't possibly leave him wandering around Hogsmeade like that, could I?"

Snape's gaze drifted toward the dog's paws, which Lyra had spent some time tending to with his own wiggenweld stock.

"Besides, there are four empty beds in our dormitory, so he won't be taking up anybody's space. And I promise I'll feed him and walk him and clean up after him. You won't have to do a thing."

He raised an eyebrow as an invitation for her to continue. She seemed to interpret it as disbelief.

She pouted and must have decided her pleading alone was insufficient.

"Scarfoot, beg!"

The enormous dog rose onto his hind legs, balancing with remarkable ease, and lifted his front paws before his chest. He made a little beckoning motion with them, as though imploring the Potions Master to take pity on a poor, unfortunate creature whose entire future depended upon his generosity.

Lyra beamed.

"See? Isn't he wonderful?"

For several seconds, Snape stared at the dog. Scarfoot stared back, his paws still raised in supplication. Then Snape looked at Lyra, whose expression suggested that refusing her request would be an act of cruelty unmatched in the history of wizardkind.

"Hm."

He picked up his quill, signed his name at the bottom of the form, and slid it across the desk.

"Oh, thank you, Uncle Severus!"

Lyra sprang from her chair, snatched up the parchment, and hurried around the desk to give her godfather a kiss on the cheek. Snape endured the affection with the air of a man who had long ago accepted that certain indignities were unavoidable.

"I promise you won't regret it!"

She turned toward the dog, who had finally lowered himself onto all fours.

"Come along, Scarfoot! You're officially a Hogwarts dog now!"

Scarfoot followed her toward the door, but paused on the threshold to look back at the man behind the desk. For a moment Snape thought the mutt winked at him, but from the side view he could only see one eye so it was probably just blinking.

Snape went back to his paperwork and ignored the continued oddity that was his goddaughter.

---

The Slytherin common room was famed for being among the most quiet and peaceful, rivaled only by the Ravenclaw private library. Lyra Malfoy entered it knowing full well that the black dog at her heels would break that peace and quiet, yet she did so anyways.

"Lyra, what on earth is that?"

Pansy Parkinson was sitting on one of the green leather sofas with Millicent Bulstrode, and Tracey Davis. Daphne was across the room with her little sister, and both of them gave the new Slytherin mascot scrutinizing looks as well.

"This," Lyra announced proudly, "is Scarfoot. My new familiar."

Millicent's eyes widened.

"Oh, he's beautiful!"

"Isn't he?" Lyra beamed. "And he's such a gentleman, too. Come on, Scarfoot. Say hello!"

Scarfoot padded obediently into the room, his enormous paws making scarcely a sound against the stone floor. Several older students looked up from their conversations, and a couple of boys playing Exploding Snap abandoned their game to appreciate him.

An inter-year crowd gathered around to compete for the chance to pat him. Some more exuberantly than others. Scarfoot seemed to be patiently tolerating it all. Which she thought was very unlike a normal dog who ought to get excited from all the attention. But perhaps that was part of his training? She was starting to think he was a drug sniffing hound or somebody's support animal.

Pansy whispered into her ear as they watched the dog get way more attention from the boys than any of them ever had.

"When I suggested you find a new hobby now that you've quit Quidditch, Lyra, I wasn't imagining dog walking."

Lyra gave her a wounded look.

"He's not a hobby, Pansy. He's a member of the family!"

"You've had him for less than a day."

"And he's already made a better impression than most of my relatives."

Tracey snorted.

"Does your father know you've adopted a dog?"

"Not yet. But Uncle Severus has signed the paperwork, so it's official until summer break at least."

Pansy stared at her.

"Professor Snape let you bring that enormous thing into Hogwarts?"

"Of course he did."

"Just like that?"

"Well, I had to ask nicely."

Panzy exchanged a look with Tracey, who appeared to be struggling not to laugh.

Millicent, meanwhile, had already abandoned the sofa and was crouching beside Scarfoot, trying to steal an ear scratch between the storm of hands all over him. He gave her a wet nose and she recoiled, giggling. She retreated back over to Lyra so Blaise could have a turn.

"Where did you find him?" Millicent asked.

"Near the Shrieking Shack. The poor thing was absolutely filthy, and he was so hungry he practically swallowed my lunch whole."

"You gave him your lunch?" Daphne asked.

"Well, obviously. Look at the size of him! He must have been starving for months."

Lyra settled onto the sofa beside Pansy, leaving Flint of all people to fuss over Scarfoot.

"He was covered in mats, too. I had to work half of them out by hand before I could clean him properly. And his paws were in a dreadful state. Cracked all over, with this horrible great cut on one of them. Don't worry, I got some Wiggenweld Potion from Uncle Severus. They're much better now."

"Did you find out who he belongs to?" Tracey asked.

Lyra shook her head.

"No collar, no identification, nothing. I completely expect to find his owner and have him returned by the end of the school year. I doubt my father would let me bring him home. I'll write him tomorrow and ask if he can put the word out for a lost dog."

"Perhaps somebody abandoned him," Daphne suggested.

"Well, if they did, they don't deserve him back," said Tracey

"Exactly!" Lyra declared, happy her classmates just put her sincerest hopes into words.

"So you found a stray dog, fed him your lunch, cleaned him, and decided to bring him home? Just like that?"

"Not quite. Weasley showed up while I was looking after him."

"Which Weasley?"

"Ronald."

Pansy's nose wrinkled.

"What was he doing near the Shrieking Shack?"

"Probably avoiding his brothers and brat of a sister. I would, if I had to live with those two."

That earned a few laughs.

"Anyway, he took one look at Scarfoot and started joking about the Grim."

"The what?" Tracey asked.

"Some ridiculous death omen Professor Trelawney's been frightening Potter with. Apparently it's supposed to look like a great big black dog, and Potter's convinced he's seen one."

Only in that moment did she realize that not a single Slytherin in their year was taking divination. Yet another point of pride for the house of serpents. It sounded like a waste of time.

"That explains a few things," Daphne remarked.

"Doesn't it? Well, Weasley thought it would be the funniest thing in the world if Potter came face-to-face with Scarfoot. So he offered me a Galleon to adopt him."

"A Galleon?"

"One whole Galleon," Lyra repeated indignantly. "As though I'd sell my dignity for pocket change!"

Pansy considered this for a moment.

"Personally, I doubt Weasley even had a Galleon to give you."

The girls burst into laughter.

The crowd began dissipating and the Grengrasse sisters saw their opportunity. They went over and gave him some scratches of their own.

"That dog has some serious patience," Tracey complimented.

"You haven't seen anything yet!" Lyra exclaimed. "Scarfoot, come here!"

The dog rose, making both Greengrasse sisters jump, and crossed the room, stopping obediently in front of her. Still, the sisters followed him over.

"Sit!"

He sat.

"Shake!"

He offered his paw.

"See?"

"That's not terribly unusual," Pansy pointed out.

"Fine, then. Scarfoot, up!"

The enormous dog rose onto his hind legs, towering over the seated girls. Tracey gave a startled squeak. He was much bigger than his shy posture hinted and rearing up he resembled a lion. Or that Griffon that nearly gored her.

"Now beg!"

Scarfoot raised his front paws and made the same imploring motion that had persuaded Professor Snape to sign his registration.

"Oh, that's wonderful!"

Even Pansy looked impressed, although she seemed determined not to admit it.

"All right, I'll admit he's clever," Tracey conceded. "I've never seen a dog do that before."

"Thank you!" Lyra replied, looking almost as pleased with herself as she was with Scarfoot.

"I still think you've lost your mind," Millicent said, shaking her head in amusement. "You've barely known him a day, and you're already treating him like a prince."

"You're just jealous because your cat can't do that."

"My cat has more dignity," Millicent retorted. "She wouldn't go begging for treats like some common street animal."

"Your cat begs for food every time we eat," Pansy pointed out.

"That's different."

"How?"

"She doesn't beg. She demands."

That earned a laugh from the girls, while Scarfoot lowered himself onto all fours and gave Millicent a look of such apparent indignation that Lyra couldn't help laughing herself.

"See? You've hurt his feelings!"

"Oh, honestly!" Millicent protested, reaching down to scratch him behind the ears. "I was only joking, you great lump."

Scarfoot accepted the apology with a wag of his tail, and Lyra decided that was quite enough teasing at her new familiar's expense.

"Come along, Scarfoot. Let's get you settled in. There's plenty of room upstairs."

Scarfoot dropped onto all fours and gave Pansy a look that Lyra could almost have sworn was offended.

"See? You've hurt his feelings."

"Oh, honestly!"

Lyra laughed and rose from the sofa.

"Come along, Scarfoot. Let's get you settled in. There's plenty of room upstairs."

"Upstairs?" Daphne repeated.

"Of course. We've got four empty beds in our dormitory. He can have whichever one he likes."

Daphne looked doubtful.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Lyra challenged.

"He's rather large."

"All the more reason to give him a proper bed. Come on!" she said, expecting the dog to follow her order.

Lyra started toward the staircase leading to the girls' dormitories. She was halfway up the steps before realizing that the dog hadn't followed her from the seating area.

"Scarfoot?"

He looked up at her.

"Come along."

He remained where he was and Lyra felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment.

"Don't be silly. You're allowed upstairs."

Scarfoot sat down in an additional act of disobedience.

Pansy giggled.

"Perhaps he's afraid of stairs?"

"He wasn't afraid of the twenty different flight of them we climbed on the way here."

"Maybe he doesn't like these ones?" Tracey offered.

Lyra descended and took hold of his collar.

"Come on, you great lump. There's a lovely warm bed waiting for you."

She gave a gentle tug but Scarfoot didn't budge. She tugged again, a little harder this time and the dog planted his paws firmly against the floor and leaned backward.

"Honestly! You've been perfectly obedient all afternoon!"

"Perhaps he doesn't want to sleep upstairs," Millicent suggested.

"Don't be ridiculous. Where else is he supposed to sleep?"

Scarfoot glanced toward the fireplace.

Lyra followed his gaze.

"Oh, no. You're not sleeping on the cold stone floor."

She tried again, this time enticing him with a piece of biscuit left over from lunch.

"Look what I've got!" she said, waiving it towards the stairs.

He looked thoroughly unimpressed and didn't go for the bribe. Instead he trotted over to the fireplace and laid down in front of it.

Pansy was laughing openly by now.

"I think he's won."

"He has not!"

Lyra tried ordering Scarfoot to stand, which he did immediately. She told him to follow, and he obediently walked beside her until she reached the first step, at which point he stopped so abruptly that she nearly tripped over him.

"Well, this is absurd!"

Millicent knelt beside the dog and stroked his head.

"Maybe he's been trained not to go into bedrooms?"

Lyra paused.

"Do you think so?"

"He does seem very well trained. Perhaps his old owners didn't allow him upstairs? Or trained him to guard bedrooms from the outside?"

Lyra regarded Scarfoot thoughtfully. The dog regarded her back with an expression of perfect innocence.

"Oh, you darling boy," she said at last. "Is that it? Have you been taught not to enter people's bedrooms?"

Scarfoot wagged his tail, surely more from the doting tone in her voice than the words.

"Well, aren't you just the most considerate gentleman!"

Pansy rolled her eyes.

"Or he's stubborn."

"Nonsense. He's being polite."

"He's a dog, Lyra."

"And a better-behaved one than most boys I know."

"That's not a high standard," Daphne observed.

"Exactly!"

Lyra crouched and wrapped her arms around Scarfoot's enormous neck.

"All right, buddy. You don't have to come upstairs if you don't want to. We'll find you somewhere comfortable down here."

With Millicent's help, she gathered a few spare cushions and an old blanket from one of the common-room cupboards, arranging them into a makeshift bed beside the fireplace, in a corner that used to hold a reading chair. Said chair found it's new home in an alcove by the stairs to the girls dormitory. Scarfoot watched the preparations with interest, and when Lyra patted the finished arrangement, he approached confidently.

He circled on top of it and dropped like a brick onto his makeshift bed. The sigh he gave was so deep you'd think he just lowered himself into a hot spring after a day of hard labor. It had been quite a day for him, Lyra admitted.

"There!" she declared triumphantly. "Much better."

Millicent sat beside him and scratched his ears.

"We should get him a proper dog bed."

"Oh, absolutely. I'll write to Father and have one sent over. Something enormous, with a nice thick mattress."

"And perhaps a few toys," Millicent added.

"And a collar with his name on it! Instead of this… is this conjured?" Daphne asked, examining the featureless leather collar.

Lyra could readily admit that it wasn't her best work. Then she remembered she walked right past the Hogsmeade pet store in her eagerness to get him back to Hogwarts. She'd have to owl them for a collar, and some other dog necessities. Actually, the newspaper and magazine racks next to the notice board probably had a product catalog hidden in it somewhere. If not they definitely had one for the Magical Menagerie. But that could wait for tomorrow.

The poor thing was already knocked out and she'd want to ask his opinion as she rifled through the magazines.

---

Oliver Wood called it reconnaissance, although Harry was beginning to suspect that Fred and George had a different understanding of the word. The Gryffindor Quidditch team had occupied a section of the bleachers overlooking the pitch, bringing enough sandwiches, sweets, and drinks to feed a small army. Dean had even brought several bags of Muggle snacks, including something Doritos, which George was examining with suspicion.

"Why are they orange?" he asked, holding one up to the light.

"Cheese," Alicia answered.

"Cheese isn't orange."

"Some cheese is."

"Not any cheese I'd trust," George declared, before popping the triangle into his mouth and immediately reaching for another.

Below them, the Slytherins were preparing for their Quidditch tryouts. Dozens of glowing rings had been conjured into a winding obstacle course above the pitch, while Marcus Flint barked instructions at a group of nervous-looking hopefuls. Wood had brought parchment and a quill, and was attempting to convince his teammates that they ought to be taking notes rather than arguing over sandwiches.

"Oliver!"

Wood turned to find Roger Davies climbing the bleachers, a broad grin on his face.

"Roger!"

"Heeeeeey! Roger!" the Gryffindors chorused, raising their drinks in greeting like pints of beer.

Roger spread his arms theatrically. "My adoring public! How I've missed you all!"

"We played a pickup game last week!" Katie called.

"An eternity, my dear. An eternity."

He settled beside Wood, helped himself to a sandwich without asking, and surveyed the obstacle course with an appreciative whistle.

"Flint's put the narrow rings immediately after the steep climb. Nasty piece of work, that. Half these poor sods will be dizzy before they reach them."

"That's precisely what we're here to assess," Wood said importantly.

"Of course. Is this ham?"

Harry had seen Davies play often enough to know he was an excellent Chaser, but he had never spent much time talking to the Ravenclaw captain. Roger seemed to possess an almost supernatural ability to make himself comfortable wherever he went, even among players who would be trying their hardest to defeat him in a few weeks.

A few minutes later, Cedric Diggory appeared with two Hufflepuff teammates, and the entire performance repeated itself.

"Wood! Davies!"

"Heeeeeey! Cedric!" they chorused, repeating the drink raising motion from earlier.

Cedric laughed at the reception, although his amusement turned to suspicion when he noticed how cheerful everyone seemed to be.

"Oliver, have you lot been drinking?"

"Certainly not!" Wood replied with rather more indignation than the question warranted.

Beside Harry, Katie discreetly slipped a small metal flask beneath her robes. Harry noticed the movement but pretended not to. He gathered that whatever the older students were enjoying, they had no intention of sharing it with him.

More Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs gradually joined the gathering, and by the time the first Slytherin hopeful mounted his broom, the bleachers had acquired the atmosphere of a small sporting festival. A second year boy managed the first few rings easily enough, but came badly unstuck when the course demanded a steep climb followed by an abrupt turn.

"He's turning with his shoulders," Roger observed as the boy narrowly avoided colliding with a goalpost. "Watch the tail of his broom, Harry. See how it swings out before he changes direction? He's fighting the broom."

Harry watched the next candidate and saw exactly what Roger meant. The boy's broom drifted sideways before he had even begun his turn, forcing him to overcorrect and miss the next ring.

"You're good at spotting things like that," Harry remarked.

"I'd hope so. They made me captain after all. One day you'll be captain when all of your seniors graduate."

"Shouldn't wood be grooming him?" Fred pointed out.

"Can you imagine how terriby that would turn out?" George added.

Wood threw a sandwich crust at him, which Angelina caught and ate.

The next interruption came from Fred, who had spotted two familiar figures approaching the stands.

"Well, well! Look who's come to join the civilized world!"

Lyra Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were making their way along the bleachers, apparently having come to watch their housemates try out. Both looked surprised to discover that the other three houses had practically organized a picnic around the proceedings.

"Come join us!" George called, shifting aside to make room.

Lyra hesitated only briefly before accepting the invitation, settling beside Roger while Pansy found a place among the Gryffindors. Harry scarcely noticed where either of them sat, being more interested in the next group of hopefuls taking to the air.

"Malfoy!" Davies greeted her. "Tell me Flint's found someone competent to replace you."

"Considering I beat you last year, Davies, I wouldn't be too particular about it."

"Wounded! And here I was about to offer you a sandwich."

"I'll take it anyway, thank you."

"That's the spirit."

Alicia handed her one while Cho Chang, who had joined the crowd a little earlier, leaned forward to address Lyra.

"Who's trying out for Seeker, then?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," Lyra admitted. "But Millicent's definitely getting onto the team."

"As a Seeker?" Cho asked doubtfully.

Pansy burst out laughing, while Lyra shook her head.

"No, she's trying out for Beater or Keeper. Personally, I think she'd make a magnificent Beater."

"Bulstrode?" Roger asked, looking thoughtful. "Third year, rather broad girl?"

"That's her," Pansy confirmed. "And she's stronger than half the boys in our year put together."

"Strength is useful, but it doesn't necessarily make a good Beater," Cedric observed. "She'll need to control her broom while swinging the bat, and that's way harder than chasing or seeking."

"Different strokes for different folks." said Anthony Ricket, nudging his captain.

"Yeah, we're useless at anything but," said Dungan Inglebee, indicating Jason Samuels and himself.

"Perhaps you should all watch before making predictions," Lyra suggested sweetly.

Roger chuckled and leaned back to await the next portion of the tryouts.

Flint eventually dismissed the last of the disqualified hopefuls from the obstacle course and brought out a pair of practice Bludgers. The prospective Beaters were required to ping pong them back and forth with the current beaters.

Millicent was among the first to take her turn. Harry had never seen her fly before, and was surprised by how confidently she handled her broom. She might not have possessed the elegance of a Seeker, but she climbed rapidly toward the approaching Bludger and struck it with a tremendous crack that echoed across the stands.

The iron ball went wide of Lucian Bole's position, so her aim was off.

"Blimey," Fred muttered appreciatively.

"That's some arm," Roger agreed.

She had a few more tries and managed to almost hit Peregrine. After that the other Beater hopefuls had their turns. To nobodies surprise Millicent did go onto the final elimination, along with Vincent Crabbe.

"Wait, Goyle isn't trying out?" he asked, turning to Pansy.

"Nah, his grades have been atrocious and his parents won't let him do any after school activities until he gets them back up to an Acceptable." said Pansy.

"He had his heart set on the keeper position too," said Lyra who was taking a tentative sip of Dr Capsacin.

The final round of elimination prove the most entertaining. Millicent and Vincent were now directly competing to see who could hit the most bludgers through the goal posts. The two of them found themselves converging on the same Bludger. Crabbe attempted to cut across her path, apparently expecting her to give way, but Millicent simply accelerated and drove her shoulder into his side.

The collision nearly rolled Crabbe off his broom. He managed to cling on, but by then Millicent had already swept past him and struck the Bludger cleanly toward another target.

The stands erupted in cheers and startled exclamations.

"That's a foul!" somebody protested.

"No, it isn't," Roger replied immediately. "Shoulder to shoulder, and she didn't grab him or strike him with the bat. Perfectly legal, although I doubt Crabbe enjoyed it."

Harry had to agree. It was exactly the sort of maneuver he had come to expect from Slytherin: rough, aggressive, and calculated to discourage anyone from challenging them again. But it had been legal, and Harry understood the distinction better than most. People sometimes spoke about Quidditch as though it were football played on broomsticks, when the sport actually involved, nay, required more physical contact. With iron balls flying around specifically to knock people out of the sky, it was much closer to rugby in the air. Quidditch was, in fact, an out and out contact sport.

"Well?" Lyra demanded, looking triumphantly toward Roger.

The Ravenclaw captain raised both hands in surrender. "I concede the point. If Flint doesn't recruit her, he's a bigger idiot than I thought."

Wood looked less pleased. "She's going to be aiming at our Chasers."

"That's generally what Beaters do," Katie observed.

Roger leaned toward Harry. "A little advice, Potter. If Bulstrode comes after you, don't try to outmuscle her. Make her turn instead. You're smaller, lighter, and much faster."

"Are you giving Gryffindor tactical advice?" Cedric asked, amused.

"I'm giving Harry advice on how not to die. Once Ravenclaw plays Gryffindor, he's entirely on his own."

Harry laughed, although his attention was soon drawn to two more familiar figures climbing the bleachers.

"Harry!"

Ron and Hermione were approaching together, and Harry waved them over enthusiastically. Ron paused briefly when he noticed Lyra sitting among the spectators, giving her a peculiar look before continuing toward Harry. He supposed Ron was still getting accustomed to Malfoy's increasingly friendly behavior, although he seemed to be making an effort to accept her company.

"Hold on a moment," George said as they approached. "Are you two speaking again?"

"Yes," Hermione answered in a chilled tone.

"We've made up," Ron confirmed, sounding rather defensive.

"Thank Merlin," Alicia declared. "That was getting ridiculous."

"And we're not discussing it," Hermione added firmly, forestalling whatever Fred had been about to say.

The twins exchanged amused looks but wisely left the matter alone. Harry was just relieved to have his two best friends together again, especially after the miserable weeks of arguments over Scabbers and the Firebolt. Ron and Hermione settled on Harry's left, opposite Pansy, and quickly became absorbed in the tryouts. Below them, Millicent sent another Bludger hurtling across the pitch with enough force to dent one of the hoops.

"Blimey," Ron said.

"That's what we said," George replied.

Roger had meanwhile begun explaining to Cedric how he would position Millicent during a match, using several Doritos to represent Chasers and a sandwich crust for the opposing Seeker.

"Keep her near the middle of the pitch," he explained, arranging the crisps along the bench. "Make the other team fly around her. With an arm like that, she could control half the field without needing to chase anyone."

"You're assuming she can hit moving targets as well as stationary ones," Cedric pointed out.

"She hit Crabbe."

"Crabbe wasn't a target."

"Could've fooled me."

Wood confiscated the sandwich crust before Roger could finish demonstrating his proposed formation, provoking another round of laughter from the assembled players.

Harry was still chuckling when he noticed that Ron had gone very quiet. His friend was staring past him with an expression of absolute horror, his eyes wide and his face drained of color. Harry recognized that look. He had seen it only once before, when they had found themselves surrounded by enormous spiders in Aragog's nest.

"Ron? What's wrong?"

Ron did not answer. Instead, he slowly raised a trembling hand and pointed over Harry's shoulder.

Harry turned to see what had frightened him and found himself face-to-face with a large, snarling, black dog.

---

Thanks again to Seru continuing to comission this story, and to my patrons. And of course to reviewers, one of whom I stole a joke from. Tried asking his permission but he never got back to me.

Anyways, 4 chapters down, and we're finally seeing Harry and Malfoid in the same scenes together again. Much more of that on the way.

 

[NonsensicalRants]

How a Wizarding Village Would Look​

Digcat asked what I think a wizarding village in the Harry Potter universe would look like, and I decided it was worth sharing with everyone.

I have a boring answer, and an interesting answer.

The boring answer is, due to bureaucracy in the form of zoning laws, they would look indistinguishable from surrounding Muggle settlements. At least on the outside. Statute of secrecy and all that. Older places already established like Hogwarts, Diagon Alley and ancient family homes are grandfathered in, but new constructions? Sorry, you can't have the Weasley teetering patchwork house. It has to look like regular houses, because warding is expensive.

Now for my interesting answer, I think it's the interiors that would be magical.

I've had the idea for a while of a more wealthy future, where people can redesign their homes to any aesthetic they please. Art Deco/nuevo, brutalist, etc. And with this idea I wondered "Man! FFX/X-2 had such a great aesthetic. A lot of game in that time had a weird organic/theological art style to things. And Witch hunter Robin/Ergo proxy was a vibe too."

I think you see where I'm going with this.

In the Harry Potter universe they are effectively post scarcity in everything except food.(and whatever mysterious exceptions the other 4 laws state). But for construction? Oh they can expand spaces and fill it with whatever they want. And all they need is some tents.

And in fact, that's how I imagine wizarding settlements. Gypsy tent cities that can be moved. Almost looking like a circus from the outside. But you go inside one tent and you're in a reconstructed Besaid Island. Beaches and all. Enter another and you're in the Bepop looking out at the stars, zero gravity included. Or they could all just be separate rooms in a single house. But from the outside? It's a shanty town or hippie commune in Appalachia or Alaska. Exactly how wizards would want it to appear.

 

[NonsensicalRants]

Chapter 5:​

---

Potter sat hunched forward with a nasty lump forming on his forehead, looking as though he would dearly like to murder somebody. He was also repeatedly opening and closing his right hand, occasionally shaking his arm as though trying to restore feeling to it.

She hadn't meant for him to fall. She certainly hadn't meant for him to hurt himself, but she doubted her mother would appreciate the distinction. Narcissa Malfoy had been explicit about her expectations. Lyra was to apologize to Potter, cease antagonizing him, and make a sincere effort to improve their relationship. And she had! She'd given him her Nimbus, stopped insulting him, and even managed to have several perfectly civil conversations with the boy.

Now she'd helped send him tumbling down a flight of wooden benches. Worse, there were witnesses. Dozens of them, from all four houses, including several prefects and Quidditch captains. She couldn't possibly persuade them all to keep quiet.

Beside Potter, Weasley was making a valiant effort to suppress another fit of laughter. Every time he glanced at his friend's forehead, his mouth twitched, and he had to look away. His brothers weren't doing much better, although even they had possessed the decency to help Potter back to his feet after his fall.

Lyra glanced at Scarfoot, who was sitting several feet away with his ears drooping. The enormous dog had abandoned his frightening performance the instant Potter went sprawling and now looked miserable.

"Well, I hope you're pleased with yourself," she whispered to him.

Scarfoot gave her a look that held a striking resemblance to a human giving a deadpan glare.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. We're both in trouble."

She looked back at Potter, who had begun rubbing his wrist again. The movement made her uneasy. His forehead was obviously going to bruise, and in fact she already saw a nice bump forming opposite his scar, but she had no idea what he'd done to his arm.

There was still snow scattered across the benches from the previous night's snowfall, in the places they hadn't cleared for their little picnic. Lyra gathered a handful with her wand, compressed it into a smooth, flattened lump of ice, and wrapped it in her handkerchief.

It wasn't sophisticated magic, I nfacti t barely qualified as transfiguration, but it would do.

"Potter?"

He glanced up at her, and the expression on his face was hardly encouraging.

"What?"

"I've made you something for your head."

"I don't want it."

"Don't be ridiculous. You've got an enormous lump on your forehead, and it'll only get worse if you don't put something cold on it."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"Well, whose fault is that?"

Lyra winced, but she was determined not to let him make the situation worse through sheer stubbornness.

"Just hold still for a moment."

She leaned forward and reached toward his forehead with the makeshift ice pack.

Potter recoiled so violently that he nearly struck the boy sitting behind him. His hand shot up and knocked her wrist aside, sending the handkerchief tumbling onto the bench between them.

"I said leave me alone!"

The sharpness of his voice silenced several nearby conversations.

Lyra stared at him, momentarily too surprised to respond. She hadn't expected him to be pleased with her, but she hadn't expected him to react as though she'd been trying to strike him, either.

"I was only trying to help," she said quietly.

"Well, don't."

For a moment she considered reminding him that she hadn't been the one who suggested the prank in the first place. It had been Weasley's idea, and he was sitting right there, still looking more amused than apologetic.

But that would have been cowardly. She had agreed to it, after all.

Lyra retrieved her handkerchief, brushed the snow from her robes, and returned to her place beside Pansy.

"That went well," Pansy murmured.

"Shut up."

Pansy wisely did.

Lyra was still trying to decide whether she ought to apologize again when Scarfoot rose from his place near the stairs. Something silvery was hanging from his mouth, a great bundle of shimmering fabric that seemed almost to melt into the air whenever it moved.

He approached Potter cautiously, his tail hanging low, and deposited the bundle at his feet. He then lay flat on his stomach deferentially and whimpered. His enormous brown eyes remained fixed upon Potter's face.

"Oh, Scarfoot," Lyra murmured, her heart melting despite everything.

Even Potter seemed momentarily taken aback by the dog's extraordinary display of contrition.

But when he looked down at the fabric his expression changed. He picked it up, let it unfold between his fingers, and stared at it for several seconds.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded accusingly.

Potter looked up, his eyes moving from the dog to Lyra, then finally settling on Weasley.

"Ron."

Weasley stopped smiling.

"Yeah?"

"Why does Malfoy's dog have my Invisibility Cloak?"

The conversation around them faltered.

Lyra blinked. So that was what Weasley had used to get Scarfoot into position. She'd been wondering how he'd managed it without attracting attention. She'd assumed he got somebody to cast a disillusionment charm on him, but to use Potter's cloak?

"Well," Ron began, "I borrowed it."

"You what?"

"Only for a little while! I was going to put it back."

"You went through my things and took my cloak without asking?"

Ron looked uncomfortable now.

"Harry, come on. It was just a joke."

"That's my father's cloak!"

That brought Lyra up short. She knew Potter had inherited very little from his parents, but she hadn't realized the cloak was among those few possessions.

"Nobody damaged it," Ron protested. "It's perfectly fine!"

"That's not the point!"

Harry gathered the cloak into his lap, inspecting it with an expression of furious disbelief.

"And now everybody knows I've got an Invisibility Cloak! Brilliant, Ron! Absolutely brilliant!"

An uncomfortable silence followed.

At least, Lyra thought it was uncomfortable. Several of the older students were exchanging peculiar looks, and Fred Weasley had developed an expression suggesting he was desperately trying not to say something.

"What?" Potter demanded.

"Well, Harry," George began carefully, "about that..."

"About what?"

"Your cloak isn't exactly the best-kept secret in Hogwarts."

Potter stared at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Everyone knows about it, mate," Fred said.

"No, they don't!"

"Well, not everyone," George conceded. "I expect some of the first years haven't heard yet."

Roger Davies gave a snort of laughter.

"Ravenclaw's known for ages, Potter."

Potter turned toward him in disbelief.

"How?"

Roger shrugged.

"People talk. An invisible student wandering around the castle isn't exactly something that stays secret for long."

"We've heard about it in Hufflepuff too," Cedric added apologetically.

"You're joking."

"Afraid not."

Lyra watched Potter's face grow steadily redder as the implications sank in. He must believed himself to be the sole keeper of a magnificent secret, while half the school had been discussing it behind his back. She might have found that amusing under other circumstances. At present, she was far too worried about her mother's reaction to enjoy it properly.

"Harry," Alicia said, looking faintly embarrassed, "you're the reason we always do a clean sweep of the girls' changing rooms before matches."

Potter went very still.

"What?"

"We check that nobody's hiding in there before anyone gets changed," Alicia explained. "It's just a precaution."

"You think I'd do that?"

"No, Harry, that's not what I meant."

"You think I'd sneak into the girls' changing rooms?"

"Of course not!" Katie exclaimed. "Nobody's accusing you of anything!"

"Then why would you even say that?"

Alicia looked regretful now, and Lyra could hardly blame her. Potter's expression had changed from anger to something wounded and betrayed.

"Because it's an Invisibility Cloak, Harry," Angelina said. "We'd be idiots not to check. It doesn't mean we think you'd actually use it for something like that."

"Besides," Angelina added, "we've been checking the changing rooms since before you joined the team. We just started being more thorough."

Potter didn't appear particularly reassured.

"Wonderful," he muttered. "So apparently everybody thinks I'm some kind of pervert."

"Nobody said that," Hermione protested.

"You might as well have!"

Lyra shifted uncomfortably. She had never considered what an Invisibility Cloak might mean for the privacy of the other students. On reflection, she supposed she would be less enthusiastic about the prospect of an invisible boy wandering around the castle if she happened to be getting changed. But then again, she only ever got changedi n the girls dormitories which had stupendous protections against boys entering.

"Look, Harry," Ron began, "I'm sorry I took it, all right? I didn't think you'd be this upset."

"Clearly."

"And nobody's damaged it."

"Stop saying that!"

Ron fell silent and Scarfoot remained seated before Potter, his head bowed and his tail motionless, waiting for some indication that his apology had been accepted.

Potter looked at him, then at the cloak in his hands.

"You're not the one I'm angry with," he muttered.

Scarfoot's tail gave a tentative wag.

That, Lyra thought bitterly, was more consideration than she'd received.

Potter stood, wincing as he put weight on his right hand against the bench. He gathered his cloak beneath his arm and looked around at the assembled students.

"I'm going back to the castle."

"Harry, wait," Hermione said, rising after him. "Let me look at your wrist."

"It's fine."

"It might be sprained."

"I said it's fine!"

He turned and started down the bleachers, taking the steps more carefully than he had during his previous descent. Hermione hurried after him, while Ron remained seated for a moment, looking chastened.

Eventually he got up too.

Lyra watched Potter disappear toward the castle, his shoulders hunched against the cold and his father's cloak clutched tightly beneath his arm. She ought to have been relieved that he seemed angrier with Weasley than with her. Perhaps, if she was extraordinarily fortunate, her part in the affair would be forgotten entirely.

Unfortunately, she couldn't forget the way he'd knocked her hand aside.

Or the way he'd winced when he stood.

Scarfoot returned to her and rested his enormous head upon her knee. She stroked his ears absently, scarcely noticing when he gave a low, unhappy sigh.

---

By the following morning, Lyra Malfoy had begun to appreciate just how expensive owning a dog could be.

Three large parcels had arrived from Hogsmeade, and she had spread their contents across the Slytherin common room. There was a new collar of dark green leather, a matching lead, two grooming brushes, several chew toys, a collection of bowls, and an enormous dog bed that had cost more than she cared to admit. She had also purchased a copy of A Witch's Guide to Dog Ownership, which was currently lying open on the sofa turned to the dog care charms section.

Scarfoot watched the proceedings from his makeshift bed beside the fireplace, his tail thumping against the floor whenever Lyra held up something new.

"Look at this one!" she told him, displaying a rubber ball that squeaked when squeezed. "Won't that be fun?"

Scarfoot regarded the ball without enthusiasm like he had the other toys.

"Well, perhaps later."

She tossed it into his new bed and returned to unpacking. The dog seemed much more interested in the bed itself, which Lyra considered a good sign. It was enormous, with a thick padded mattress and raised sides, and she had even paid extra to have his name embroidered across the front.

A soft popping sound announced the arrival of a Hogwarts house-elf carrying a silver platter nearly as large as its torso.

"Breakfast for Miss Malfoy's dog, miss!"

"Oh, wonderful! Thank you!"

The platter contained a generous helping of scrambled eggs, bagon, sausages, and a little bowl of blood porridge. Lyra had been quite specific with the kitchens. Scarfoot was still terribly thin beneath all that fur, and she intended to see that he was properly fed.

She was just about to place the platter on the floor when a voice interrupted her.

"Whoa! What are you doing?!"

Lyra looked up.

Gregory Goyle stood at the foot of the stairs to the boy's dormitory, regarding the breakfast with an expression of concern.

"Feeding my dog?"

"He's starving."

"Yes, Gregory, that's the point."

"No, I mean he's been starving for a long time. You can't feed him like that."

Lyra frowned.

"Why?"

"Because you might kill him."

That got her attention.

Goyle came closer and crouched beside Scarfoot, who obligingly allowed him to run a hand along his ribs. Gregory's expression grew more serious.

"He's worse than he looks. You can feel practically every bone."

"I know. That's why I ordered so much food."

"That's what you shouldn't do."

He looked up at her, struggling to find an explanation.

"You know about the Holocaust?"

Lyra blinked at the stupid question.

"Uh, yeah?"

"When the camps were liberated, some of the prisoners got really sick after eating too much. Some died. It's the same with dogs. If they've been starving for ages, you can't just give them a mountain of food. Their bodies can't handle it."

Lyra looked down at Scarfoot, who was watching the enormous breakfast with an expression of longing.

"Then what am I supposed to feed him?"

"Small meals. Several times a day. Eggs are good, and plain chicken, but not too much at once. Then you slowly give him more as he gets better."

"Don't give him the sausages yet, either. They're too fatty."

"Are you certain?"

"Yeah. We've had dogs like him before."

"You have?"

"My family breeds guard dogs. Big ones, mostly. Mastiffs, Rottweilers, that sort of thing. Sometimes people bring us dogs they can't look after anymore, or ones they've found wandering about."

That was the most Lyra had heard Gregory say about anything in weeks. He was generally content to let other people do the talking, and his dreadful academic performance had never encouraged anyone to seek his advice. Yet here he was, explaining something she hadn't even thought to consider.

"Do you suppose Scarfoot might be one of yours?"

Gregory examined the dog more closely.

"Don't think so. I'd remember one this big. But I could ask Dad to look into it?"

"Would you?"

"Sure. He knows loads of breeders. If someone's lost a dog like this, somebody might've heard about it."

"Oh, Gregory, that would be wonderful!"

She gave him a grateful smile and began dividing the breakfast into smaller portions.

"How much should I give him?"

Gregory considered the question before measuring out a modest helping of eggs.

"Start with that. See how he handles it, and give him another little meal later. You can increase it gradually."

Scarfoot watched in visible dismay as the rest of his breakfast was carried away by the house-elf.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Lyra told him. "Gregory says it's for your own good."

The dog turned his enormous head toward Goyle and gave him an accusatory glare.

Over the following week, Lyra learned to love the work it took to care for her new familiar.

Scarfoot was exceptionally well behaved. He never chewed the furniture, never barked unless commanded, and seemed to understand almost everything she said to him. He took to his new bed, although he continued to show absolutely no interest in the expensive collection of toys she had purchased.

His collar was another matter. He allowed her to fasten it around his neck without complaint, and seemed quite pleased with the little silver nameplate hanging beneath his chin.

Feeding him proved to be the most difficult part of their new routine. Lyra followed Gregory's instructions religiously, measuring out small portions of scrambled eggs, plain chicken, and other easily digested foods like fish. Scarfoot greeted every meal with enormous enthusiasm, then looked personally betrayed when she refused to give him more.

Gregory assured her that his appetite was a good sign. He also took to visiting Scarfoot in the common room, occasionally bringing a brush and helping Lyra work through the remaining tangles in his coat which kept retangling. You'd think she'd adopted a sheep with how thick and curly it was. She found herself consulting him on everything from feeding schedules to the proper way to inspect a dog's paws after a long walk.

It was strange to discover that Gregory Goyle, who could scarcely manage an Acceptable in most of his subjects, possessed an inexhaustible knowledge of animal care. He had already written home about Scarfoot, and promised to let her know if his father discovered anything.

Lyra's other great educational achievement that week involved dog mess.

A Witch's Guide to Dog Ownership contained a modified version of the Scouring Charm specifically intended for cleaning up after pets. It required a slightly different wand movement and a good deal more concentration than ordinary Scourgify, but after several embarrassing failures she mastered it. She was immensely grateful that magic spared her the indignity of carrying little bags around the grounds.

Scarfoot, for his part, seemed to appreciate having a mistress who could dispose of his leavings with a flick of her wand.

Their walks quickly became Lyra's favorite part of the day. She took him out every morning before breakfast and again in the evenings, sometimes accompanied by Pansy or Millicent. He loved exploring the grounds, particularly the wooded areas near the lake, and his enormous size attracted attention wherever they went.

Lyra also discovered that she could bring him to most of her lessons. Scarfoot would accompany her through the corridors, settle himself outside the classroom door, and wait patiently until she emerged. He never wandered off while she was inside, and several professors remarked upon his extraordinary obedience.

He looked just like a guard dog stationed outside a particularly important office.

She was careful, however, not to bring him to any classes shared with Gryffindor.

Potter had remained cold toward her since the incident at the Quidditch pitch, and she had no desire to make matters worse by parading Scarfoot beneath his nose. Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions were therefore out of the question, no matter how disappointed her dog seemed whenever she left him behind.

There were other peculiarities about Scarfoot that Lyra found more difficult to explain.

For one thing, he had developed a habit of going out at night.

The first time she discovered this, she had come downstairs early to find him waiting beside the concealed entrance to the common room. Outside of the inconspicuous stone wall that served as their secret entrance. One of the older students was just returning from somewhere, and Scarfoot slipped through the stone doorway before it closed.

Lyra had been furious when she discovered he was carrying a live rat in his mouth.

"Scarfoot! Put that disgusting thing down!"

He obeyed, depositing the squirming creature on the floor. She had to use a Levitation Charm to carry it outside, all the while lecturing him about the importance of not bringing vermin into the common room.

Unfortunately, it happened again two nights later. And again after that.

The other Slytherins had taken to letting Scarfoot in and out whenever he appeared at the entrance. Lyra suspected that several of the older boys found his nocturnal hunting expeditions enormously entertaining.

She couldn't understand why he insisted on bringing the rats back alive. He never attempted to eat them, and on the nights when he returned empty-handed he seemed positively irritated.

Perhaps he was trying to present her with gifts? Wasn't that a cat thing? At least he wasn't leaving dead things on her pillow like Milicent's furball sometimes did for all of the third year girls. Especially when one of them got it in their head to diet.

By the end of the week, Scarfoot had become a fixture in Slytherin House. He had put on a little weight, his coat was beginning to regain its shine, and even students who had initially objected to the presence of an enormous dog in their common room had grown accustomed to stepping around him.

Lyra couldn't be more pleased with her new companion. There was only one thing spoiling her happiness.

Harry Potter still wasn't speaking to her.

She finally decided to do something about it the following Friday.

Ronald Weasley was coming out of a classroom when Lyra spotted him, and she hurried after him with Scarfoot trotting at her heels.

"Weasley!"

Ron turned, looking surprised.

"Oh. Malfoy."

"I need to speak with you."

"About what?"

"Potter, obviously."

Ron sighed.

"Right."

Lyra folded her arms.

"It's been a week, Weasley. An entire week, and he's still treating me like I've committed some dreadful crime."

Ron gave her an incredulous look.

"Well, we did send him tumbling down the bleachers."

"I know that! I was there!"

"Then you know why he's angry."

Lyra scowled.

"I've tried apologizing. I've tried being nice. I even made him an ice pack, and he practically took my hand off for it."

"Yeah, I saw."

"So what am I supposed to do?"

Ron considered the question for a moment.

"Leave him alone."

Lyra stared at him.

"That's your advice?"

"Pretty much."

"You're his best friend!"

"And I'm avoiding him too."

That surprised her.

"You are?"

"Yeah. Look, Malfoy, you need to understand something about Harry. When he gets angry, he can stay angry for months. Especially when he thinks somebody's betrayed him."

Lyra shifted uncomfortably.

Ron continued, sounding more serious than she thought a Weasley capable of being.

"He doesn't have many things from his parents, and I went and took one of them without asking. I thought he'd laugh once he realized it was a prank, but we hurt him more than we meant to."

"I didn't know he'd fall," Lyra protested.

"Neither did I. And that's not why he's angry. He brushes injuries off like its nothing."

She couldn't argue with that.

"So what do we do?"

"Give him space. Right now, that's the best thing we can do. I'll let you know when I'm not scared to try patching things up myself. The best sign that you're clear to approach is when he pranks me back."

Lyra raised an eyebrow.

"You're scared of Potter?"

"Not of Harry himself, no. I'm scared of making him angrier. Trust me. I've known him for nearly three years. Pushing him when he's like this just makes things worse."

It wasn't the answer she had wanted, but Ron seemed quite certain of himself.

"Fine," she said at last. "I'll leave him alone."

"Good."

"But if he stays angry for months, I'm blaming you."

"Fair enough."

A muffled squeaking noise interrupted them.

Lyra looked down.

Scarfoot had wandered a short distance along the corridor while they were talking, and was now returning with something wriggling between his jaws.

"Oh, not again!"

to her surprise, the enormous dog approached Ron and presented the live rat to Ron. He dropped to his knees so quickly that Lyra nearly jumped.

"Scabbers! Is that you?"

The rat squealed and attempted to escape as Ron took it into his hands. Ron examined it eagerly but then his face fell.

"Oh."

Lyra watched him turn the squirming rat over, seemingly oblivious to its scratching and biting,looking for something.

"It's not him," he said miserably.

"Your pet rat?"

"Yeah. Scabbers had a missing toe on his front paw. This one's got all of them."

He released the rat, which immediately scurried toward the nearest wall. Scarfoot watched it go without making any attempt to pursue it.

Lyra looked from the dog to Ron, then back again.

A thought occurred to her.

"Wait a moment."

"What?"

"Scarfoot's been bringing rats back to the common room all week."

"He has?"

"Live ones. He goes out at night and catches them, then brings them back without hurting them. I couldn't understand why."

She crouched beside her dog and scratched his ears thoughtfully.

"Scarfoot, you clever boy. Have you been trying to find Weasley's rat?"

Scarfoot wagged his tail.

Lyra looked up triumphantly.

"That must be it! He probably smelled Scabbers on you when you met him in Hogsmeade. He knows you're missing your pet, so he's been trying to find him!"

Ron stared at the dog with a healthy dose of skepticism.

"You reckon?"

"Well, what else could it be? He's certainly not eating them."

Ron crouched beside Scarfoot and gave his shaggy head an affectionate pat.

"You're a good dog, aren't you?"

Scarfoot's tail thumped against the stone floor.

"Thanks, mate. I appreciate it."

Lyra smiled. It was touching, really. She had known he was unusually intelligent, but this was extraordinary even by his standards.

She was just about to suggest that Ron give him something belonging to Scabbers to help with the scent when Scarfoot froze, looking at something behind her.

She turned to see Professor Lupin standing just as stock still as her dog. He looked like he'd frozen midstep, like a prey animal crossing paths with a bear. His hand was halfway to his wand and his eyes were wide open, unblinking.

---

Thanks again to Seru for continuing to comission this story, and my Patrons. And you fans of this story have been excellent as well. More melodrama for your teen romance, which much more to come.

 

[NonsensicalRants]

Chapter 6:​

---

Professor Lupin stood nearly stock still in his staring contest with Scarfoot for several more moments before Lyra started to worry.

"Professor Lupin? Is everything alright?"

Lyra's question seemed to snap the professor out of his stupor. He blinked several times, looking between her and Scarfoot.

"Miss Malfoy?"

"Is there something wrong with my dog, sir?"

"Your dog? You own this dog?" Lupin clarified.

"Yes, sir. His name is Scarfoot."

"Scarfoot," Lupin murmured, seeming to try and hide a smirk but he wiped it away in favor of his more serious composure.

He went back to staring at the enormous black dog, who stood perfectly still beside Lyra. Was this a werewolf and dog thing? Sure it took her the whole first semester to figure out why Lupin disappeared every month, but a dog ought to smell it on him right away.

But no, Scarfoot was showing deference, more than he'd ever shown her at least. He crouched low with his tail between his legs. And were those puppydog eyes? When did he get those?

The staring contest was interrupted when Lupin's attention was drawn by the rat Ron had previously dropped, which was now scurrying away. Lupin watched it for a second before turning his attention back to Scarfoot. His face held the most confused, questioning expression she had ever seen. He glanced between Scarfoot and the rat several times, before turning his attention to the two students beside it.

She could tell he was thinking his words over carefully.

"Miss Malfoy, I need to examine your dog."

Lyra felt a sudden pang of panic and quashed it. No use imagining that her professor was going to take her dog away from her for good.

"Examine him? What for?"

"I have a suspicion that he may be suffering from a magical condition."

"What sort of condition?"

"I don't want to tell you because it will alarm you, and I'm probably wrong. It's only a hunch, but I must insist on checking to see if his physical condition is because of… well, a curse."

"He's been doing much better, Professor! He was terribly thin when I found him, but I've been feeding him properly, and he's already putting on weight."

"I'm pleased to hear that. Nevertheless, I must insist on examining him."

Lyra glanced down at Scarfoot. He was still staring at Lupin, his ears pressed backwards.

"Couldn't I bring him by after classes? I don't like leaving him with strangers."

"I'm afraid this cannot wait."

"But, Professor—"

"Miss Malfoy, you and Mr. Weasley have another class to attend, do you not?"

Lyra looked toward Ron, who had been watching the exchange with considerable confusion.

"Yes, sir," Ron admitted.

"Then I suggest you both go. I'll take Scarfoot into my office and examine him there. You can come get him after your next class."

Lyra hesitated.

"But he's my dog, Professor. Surely I ought to know what's wrong with him before you take him away."

Lupin's expression hardened.

"Miss Malfoy, I have already explained that I don't know what's wrong with him. That is precisely why I need to examine him. This is for his and your safety. This is very serious."

Lyra opened her mouth to protest again.

"Enough." His voice rose sharply. "I am giving you a direct instruction. Unless you would prefer to spend your entire weekend in detention, you will leave Scarfoot with me and proceed to your next class. Quickly. Is that understood?"

Lyra stared at him.

She had never heard Professor Lupin speak to a student like that. He was ordinarily so patient that even the most disruptive students seemed incapable of provoking him.

"Yes, sir," she answered quietly.

"Good. Now, off you go. Both of you."

Lyra reluctantly turned toward Scarfoot and knelt beside him and she noticed Lupin flinch for his wand again.

"Be good, alright? I'll come back for you as soon as I can."

She reached out to scratch him behind the ears, but Scarfoot stepped away from her and walked directly toward Lupin.

Lyra felt her face melt into a vision of horror at her dog choosing to go with somebody else instead of her. The entire motion felt like a rejection.

"Well, there we are," he said. "It seems Scarfoot is willing to cooperate."

Lyra rose to her feet, still feeling distinctly uneasy.

"Please take good care of him, Professor."

"I shall, Miss Malfoy. Now hurry along," he said, though his eyes did not leave Scarfoot. "Come by after lunch, I should be done by then."

Ron was already moving down the corridor. Lyra followed, glancing back over her shoulder.

Lupin stood beside the classroom door, watching Scarfoot enter ahead of him, before following him inside and closing the door behind him.

---

On Monday, Harry encountered Lyra's Grim in the library.

He was searching the shelves for a book on medieval witch hunts – which Binns STILL somehow had them studying – when something wet pressed against the back of his hand. Harry jerked away and nearly knocked an entire row of books onto the floor.

Scarfoot stood beside him, wagging his tail and panting heavily in a way that sounded like laughter.

He heard a shush from the stacks and realized he must have yelped in a very unmanly manner on the way down.

"What are you doing here?" Harry hiss-whispered.

The dog responded by pushing his enormous head beneath Harry's hand, demanding to be petted. Harry recoiled and scurried to his feet, and away from the dog.

"You're not supposed to be in here."

Scarfoot seemed unconcerned. He sniffed at Harry's robes, circled him twice, and settled across his feet.

Harry tried to step away, but the dog refused to budge. He was surprisingly heavy for such a thin animal.

"Move, you great lump."

Scarfoot rolled onto his back, exposing his stomach.

Harry stared at him.

"Oh, for heaven's sake."

He crouched and gave the dog a reluctant scratch. Scarfoot closed his eyes in apparent bliss, stretching his legs until he occupied most of the aisle.

Harry had just begun to enjoy himself when Madam Pince appeared around the corner.

"Potter! What is that animal doing in my library?"

"He's not mine!"

"Then remove him!"

Harry grabbed Scarfoot by the collar and attempted to haul him upright. The dog went limp, leaving Harry struggling with several stone of uncooperative canine.

"Come on!" Harry hissed.

Scarfoot wagged his tail against the floor in seeming joy at the trouble he was causing.

Madam Pince pointed toward the doors.

"Out! Both of you!"

Harry eventually managed to coax Scarfoot onto his feet, only for the dog to seize the hem of his robes and tug him toward the exit.

"Alright, I'm coming!"

As soon as they emerged into the hallway, Harry squirmed out of his robe and took off in a sprint. Scarfoot barked and ran after him.

"Impedimenta!" Harry yelled, nailing the tedious animal with the spell.

The dog continued to try and chase him in slow motion, but Harry took the opportunity to get away. Naturally Scarfoot found him in his next class, carrying his robe to return to him.

---

On Tuesday, Scarfoot stole Harry's Monster Book of Monsters.

Harry was halfway down the hill toward Hagrid's hut when the dog emerged from behind a tree, snatched the book from beneath his arm, and raced away.

"HEY! GIVE THAT BACK!"

Scarfoot stopped twenty yards away and looked over his shoulder, trotting in a way much more like a proud stallion than an emaciated mutt.

Harry ran toward him. The dog waited until he was almost within reach before bounding away again.

For the next several minutes, Harry chased him around the grounds while the rest of the class watched in amusement.

"He's playing with you!" Hermione called.

"I NOTICED!"

Scarfoot finally stopped beside a large rock and dropped the book onto the grass. Harry approached carefully, expecting another trick.

"Stay."

The dog sat.

"Good. Now leave it."

Harry bent to retrieve his textbook.

Scarfoot seized it again.

"Oh, you little—"

Harry lunged, caught the book by its cover, and pulled. Scarfoot resisted just long enough to make Harry put his weight into the struggle before abruptly releasing it.

Harry landed on his backside.

The Monster Book sprang open and began snapping at his fingers.

Scarfoot barked delightedly.

Harry wrestled the book shut and glared at him.

By the time Harry reached Hagrid's hut, his robes were covered in grass stains and Hermione was still laughing.

Lyra looked at him questioningly and Harry shook his head. He was glad she hadn't been there to see any of that. He didn't know why.

Lyra shooed Scarfoot away

"You can't be in this class. Familiars aren't allowed for obvious reasons. Go back to the castle, I'll see you next period."

To Harry's surprise, the dog obeyed and ran back up to the castle.

---

On Wednesday night, Harry discovered that his Invisibility Cloak was useless against Scarfoot.

He had missed dinner after falling asleep over his homework and decided to sneak down to the kitchens for something to eat. Thankfully Fred and George told him where it was and how to open it. He was halfway through the third-floor corridor reminiscing on the now normal classroom that once housed fluffy. It was then that he heard claws clicking against the stone behind him.

Harry turned.

Scarfoot stood at the far end of the passage, staring directly at him.

Harry looked down at his invisible body.

"How can you see me?" he asked stupidly, before realizing it could probably just smell and hear him.

The dog trotted toward him, sniffed the air, and seized the dangling edge of the cloak.

"Hey! Let go!"

Scarfoot pulled.

Harry grabbed the fabric with both hands, which the dog took as an invitation to play tug-of-war. After several seconds of struggling, Scarfoot gave a tremendous yank and pulled the cloak clean off him.

"SCARFOOT!" he hiss-yelled, just like in the library on Monday.

The dog bounded away with the silvery fabric trailing from his mouth.

Harry chased him through two corridors and down a staircase, desperately trying to keep his footsteps quiet. Every time he came close, Scarfoot accelerated just enough to stay out of reach.

"Come back here, you great hairy idiot!" he grumbled, careful not to be too loud.

Scarfoot stopped at the next corner and barked.

"SHHH!"

A door opened somewhere above them.

"Who's there?" Filch called.

Harry froze. Scarfoot did too.

The dog looked toward the approaching footsteps, then trotted back and deposited the cloak at Harry's feet.

"Oh, now you give it back!"

Harry snatched it up and disappeared beneath it.

Scarfoot led him down another staircase before scratching at a brick on the wall. When Harry pressed it the wall opened to a deserted passage, eventually stopping outside the kitchens.

Harry stared at the painting of the fruit bowl.

"You knew where I was going?"

Scarfoot sat and wagged his tail.

Harry shook his head and tickled the pear.

When he emerged fifteen minutes later with a sandwich and freshly fried, medium-rare steak, the dog was still waiting for him. Just like he'd hoped.

"Here," Harry whispered, tossing him the steak. "Peace offering. Go away."

The dog accepted the meat but instead of going away he lay down and feasted on it. This did give Harry the opportunity to escape.

---

On Thursday, Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower and discovered Scarfoot sleeping in front of the fireplace.

Several younger students were gathered around him. One was brushing his coat while another scratched his stomach. Crookshanks lay curled against his side, apparently enjoying the warmth.

Harry stopped in the middle of the common room and stared at the peculiar scene.

"How did he get in here?"

"We let him in," Denni answered from beside his yearmates.

Harry looked around the room. Nobody else seemed remotely concerned that an enormous black dog had somehow gained access to their common room.

"Does Malfoy even know he's here?"

"Dunno," said a girl whose name he never bothered to learn.

Scarfoot opened his eyes.

The moment he spotted Harry, he scrambled to his feet and bounded across the room, scattering the students around him.

Harry barely had time to brace himself before the dog planted both front paws against his chest and began licking his face.

"Ugh! Get off!"

Scarfoot continued enthusiastically.

"Alright! Alright!"

Harry started laughing as he tried to fend him off. The dog finally dropped onto all fours, wagging his tail so violently that his entire backside swayed.

"You're absolutely ridiculous."

Harry knelt and scratched him behind both ears.

Scarfoot pressed his enormous head against Harry's chest, nearly knocking him backward.

"Steady on!"

The dog gave a happy whine.

Harry wrapped an arm around his neck and continued scratching him.

He didn't know why the dog was so obsessed with him, but he was starting to appreciate it.

"You're a good boy, aren't you?" Harry murmured. "Even if you are a complete menace. I hope you're this bad with Malfoy too."

Harry found a seat and started on his homework. Scarfoot remained beside him for the homework session with his head on Harry's feet. Harry would occasionally reach down to scratch his ears and other students would occasionally come by to deliver head pats of their own.

When the bell chimed for eight, Scarfoot got up and went to the portrait exit and scratched at the bottom to be let out.

"Stand aside, noble beast! I shall grant thee passage!" Sir Cadogan declared, swinging his portrait open to let the dog out.

---

On Friday, Harry went the entire morning without seeing Scarfoot.

At first, he considered it a welcome change. He managed to reach breakfast without being ambushed, attended his first class without having his robes stolen, and even made it through the next without a gigantic black dog appearing from nowhere to torment him.

By midmorning, however, he had begun looking over his shoulder.

Every time he rounded a corner, he half expected Scarfoot to come bounding toward him. Whenever he heard footsteps behind him, he turned to check whether they belonged to a dog. At one point, he caught himself watching a classroom door for several minutes, wondering if Scarfoot would somehow manage to open it after growing hands.

By lunchtime, Harry was oddly disappointed.

He had grown accustomed to the ridiculous animal's company. Even the constant harassment had become something to look forward to, although Harry would have denied that if anyone asked.

Friday was a short day for him, and Harry decided to take his lunch outside rather than eat in the Great Hall. He collected a sandwich and a few other things from the kitchens, wrapped them in a handkerchief, and headed down toward the lake.

The weather was chilly but pleasant enough, and he knew a quiet spot along the shore where he could eat without being disturbed. Unfortunately, someone had beaten him to it.

Lyra Malfoy sat beneath a tree near the water, her knees drawn up against her chest. Harry considered turning around and finding somewhere else to eat, but something about the way she was sitting made him hesitate.

Then she wiped her face with her sleeve.

Harry stopped.

Was she crying?

He stood there for several seconds, uncertain what to do. He had never seen Malfoy cry before, and he suspected she would be furious if she knew he'd caught her doing it.

He could probably leave without her noticing.

But this was a girl crying, and he was a chivalrous Gryffindor.

"Malfoy?"

Her head snapped toward him.

"Potter!"

She hurriedly wiped her cheeks and glared at him.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing. I was just going to eat lunch."

"Then go eat it somewhere else!"

Harry glanced at the lake, then back at her. Her eyes were red, and fresh tears were already gathering despite her obvious determination to stop them.

He reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief.

"Here."

Lyra stared at it.

"What?"

"For your face."

"I know what a handkerchief is for, Potter! I just never took you for a gentleman who carried one."

She snatched it from him and dabbed at her eyes.

Harry decided against mentioning that she was completely right about him never carrying one around and that he only had this one because it had been wrapped around his sandwich. Or that he'd eaten it while still in said hankerchief and he'd wiped his face with it afterwards. It would ruin the gesture.

He stood awkwardly beside her while she composed herself.

"Did somebody do something?" he asked eventually.

"No."

"Right."

Lyra blew her nose and Harry dutifully turned away to give her the privacy to do so and still feel like a lady. For a moment, he considered leaving her alone. Then he remembered that he hadn't seen Scarfoot all morning.

"Where's your dog, anyway?"

Lyra's expression crumpled.

"Oh, brilliant!" she snapped, wiping at her eyes again. "Thank you very much for reminding me!"

Harry blinked.

"What?"

"Professor Lupin took him!"

Harry scowled at her. Well, at Lupin but he wasn't there right now to get a glare from him.

"He what?"

"He took Scarfoot this morning! Said he needed to examine him for some sort of curse, and he wouldn't even let me stay!"

"Why would Scarfoot be cursed?"

"I don't know! He wouldn't tell me!"

Harry frowned.

"That's ridiculous!"

"That's what I said!"

Harry looked toward the castle. Professor Lupin had always seemed reasonable to him, but keeping someone's familiar without explaining why was going too far.

"He can't just take your dog."

"Apparently he can!"

"Well, he shouldn't!"

Lyra looked at him, seemingly surprised to find him agreeing with her.

Harry sat down beside her, setting his lunch on the grass.

"Scarfoot's been following me around all week," he admitted.

"I know."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. Half the school has been telling me about it. Accusing me of siccing him on you."

Harry felt scandalized that he himself hadn't thought to accuse her of that.

"Right."

"He seems to like you."

"He has a funny way of showing it."

Lyra gave a small, reluctant snort.

Harry smiled.

"He stole my textbook on Tuesday."

"I heard from Granger."

"And my Invisibility Cloak on Wednesday."

That earned him a proper look.

"He did what?"

"Ran off with it. Nearly got me caught by Filch."

Lyra shook her head, but he could tell she was trying to hide a smirk.

Before either of them could say anything else, a flutter of wings interrupted them as small brown owl landed directly in front of Harry. It held out one leg, to which a folded note had been attached.

Harry untied the parchment.

"Who's that from?" Lyra asked.

"Professor Lupin."

Her expression darkened.

Harry unfolded the letter and read.

Dear Harry,

Would you please come to my classroom as soon as you receive this? There is something I would like to discuss with you.

Oh, and do bring Miss Malfoy with you, since you're sitting right next to her.

Yes, I can see you both from my office window.

Ronald is already here.

Professor R. J. Lupin
​

Harry handed the parchment to Lyra and looked toward the castle.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was on the third floor, and after a moment of searching, he thought he could make out a figure standing beside an open window. It was definitely waving at them.

"You're joking." Lyra groaned before jumping to her feet and brushing her bottom clear of snow and dirt.

"Well, let's go get my dog back."

---

Notes:

Apologies for the chronological backtracking in this chapter. Jumping from Friday back to the preceding Monday to show Harry's POV of the week leading up to the opening scene is really not my style.

As you can probably tell, yes, that was supposed to be in the previous chapter.

Thanks as always to Seru for commissioning this chapter, to my patrons, and to fans like you.