CHAPTER FIVE

science is basically magic

1993

third year, pt. two

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, LYRA'S POV

-IV-

LYRA IS WORRIED ABOUT POTTER FOR SCIENTIFIC REASONS

Late that night, the Slytherin common room was dimly lit, the flickering fire casting long shadows on the dark green walls. Lyra Malfoy and Blaise Zabini were seated in front of the fireplace, the warmth from the flames providing a comforting contrast to the cold stone around them. It was nearly midnight, and most of the other students had long since gone to bed, leaving the room quiet and secluded.

Blaise leaned back in his chair, a smug grin playing on his lips as he looked over at Lyra. "You won't believe what I heard today," he began, his voice low and conspiratorial.

Lyra raised an eyebrow, glancing at him curiously. "What?"

"Potter fainted," Blaise said, unable to suppress a chuckle. "Right on the train. In front of everyone."

Lyra's eyes widened, the playful smirk she'd been wearing quickly disappearing. "He fainted?" she repeated, a note of concern creeping into her voice.

Blaise nodded, clearly enjoying the reaction he was getting. "Yeah, passed out cold when a Dementor came aboard. Can you believe that? The great Harry Potter, scared out of his wits."

Lyra frowned, her mind racing. She had seen Dementors before, and she knew how terrifying they could be, but the thought of Potter—of Harry—fainting made her uneasy. "But... is he all right?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost hesitant.

Blaise rolled his eyes, leaning forward to poke the fire with a nearby poker. "Oh, he'll be fine. Potter always manages to bounce back, doesn't he?" He paused, glancing at her with a smirk. "You're worried about him, aren't you?"

Lyra shot him a sharp look, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I am not," she insisted, though the worry in her eyes was hard to miss.

Blaise chuckled, leaning back in his chair again. "Sure, Lyra, sure. Just admit it to me, otherwise we both know I won't let this go. You have the hots for a half-blood Gryffindor."

Lyra huffed, turning her gaze back to the fire, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck. "Don't be ridiculous."

But as Blaise continued to laugh quietly to himself, Lyra couldn't help but feel a knot of anxiety tightening in her chest. The image of Harry fainting, vulnerable and scared, lingered in her mind, no matter how much she tried to push it away.

She wasn't worried— no, of course she was not! She was curious, yes, her mother has always told her she is way too curious for her own good. That is why she wondered why Potter fainted— it was science, not some silly crush.

-V-

LUPIN IS THE FIRST GOOD DADA TEACHER

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom buzzed with a mixture of excitement as Professor Lupin prepared to introduce the third years to their latest lesson. Today, the Slytherins were paired with the Ravenclaws, a combination that often led to a strange blend of rivalry and mutual respect. Lyra Malfoy stood near the back, her arms crossed as she listened to Lupin explain what they would be doing.

Professor Lupin, with his usual calm and collected demeanor, paced in front of the class, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. The room was dimly lit, the old wooden desks casting long shadows on the stone floor. A large, creaking wardrobe stood ominously against the far wall, its doors rattling slightly as though something inside was eager to be free.

"Today," Lupin began, his voice smooth and reassuring, "we're going to be tackling one of the most common dark creatures that you might encounter: a Boggart."

There was a murmur of interest, mixed with a few nervous whispers. Lyra exchanged a glance with Blaise Zabini, who stood beside her, his expression unreadable.

Lupin continued, "Boggarts are shape-shifters that take on the form of whatever it is we fear the most. No one knows what a Boggart looks like in its true form, because it always changes when someone faces it. The good news is that they are relatively easy to deal with—provided you know the right spell."

He flicked his wand, and the word 'Riddikulus' appeared on the blackboard in neat, chalky letters.

"The spell to use against a Boggart is simple: Riddikulus. What makes this spell effective is that it forces the Boggart to take on a form that is amusing, rather than frightening. Laughter is your best weapon."

Some of the students looked intrigued, while others, particularly the Slytherins, seemed skepticaL.

The professor smiled at the class, his eyes twinkling. "We'll be taking turns, one at a time. Remember, the spell is 'Riddikulus,' and your goal is to think of something that will make the Boggart look ridiculous. When you're ready, step forward."

The first student to volunteer was a Ravenclaw boy. The Boggart emerged from the wardrobe, transforming into a towering, menacing troll as it lumbered towards him. The boy raised his wand shakily, and after a few tries, managed to cast the spell. The troll's club turned into a rubber chicken, and it began slipping on banana peels that appeared beneath its feet. The class erupted into laughter, and the Boggart retreated.

One by one, the students faced the Boggart, each with varying degrees of success. A few Slytherins stepped forward with bravado, though some faltered when faced with their worst fears.

As Lyra watched the others, she felt her heartbeat quicken. She hadn't really considered what her own worst fear might be. As the line grew shorter, and it became clear that her turn was approaching, a cold sense of dread settled in her stomach.

Finally, it was her turn. Lyra stepped forward, her hand trembling slightly as she gripped her wand. She could feel the eyes of her classmates on her, and she forced herself to focus on Lupin's calm, encouraging expression.

"Whenever you're ready, Miss Malfoy," he said gently.

Lyra nodded and took a deep breath. The Boggart, sensing its new target, began to shift. The air around it seemed to shimmer and darken, and Lyra's breath caught in her throat as the shape solidified.

Standing before her, towering and imposing, was the unmistakable figure of her father, Lucius Malfoy.

He looked exactly as she remembered him at his most furious—his cold, grey eyes blazing with anger, his face twisted into a sneer of utter contempt. He held his wand in his hand, pointing it at her as though she were nothing more than a disobedient child.

"You've failed me, Lyra," he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "You've brought shame to our name. You're nothing but a disappointment."

The words cut through her like a knife, and for a moment, Lyra froze, her mind going blank. She had known her father could be harsh, even cruel, but to see him like this, to hear those words—it was as if all her worst fears about him had come to life.

"Riddikulus!" she tried to say, but the word stuck in her throat. The Boggart-Lucius stepped closer, his expression growing darker, more menacing. Lyra felt herself shrinking under his gaze, the fear threatening to overwhelm her.

"Come on, Lyra," Lupin's voice broke through her paralysis, steady and encouraging. "You can do it."

She squeezed her wand tighter, forcing herself to focus. She thought of the things that made her father seem less intimidating—his obsession with the family peacocks, his tendency to overreact when the house-elves made a mistake, the ridiculous wig he once wore for a costume ball.

"Riddikulus!" she shouted, and this time, the spell worked.

In an instant, Lucius Malfoy's elegant robes transformed into a garish clown outfit, complete with oversized shoes and a bright red nose. His stern expression melted into one of confusion as he fumbled with a bouquet of flowers that suddenly squirted water all over his face.

The class burst into laughter, and the Boggart retreated, slamming back into the wardrobe. Lyra let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't believe what she had just seen—or what she had just revealed.

"Well done, Miss Malfoy," Lupin said, his voice full of approval as he stepped forward to lock the wardrobe. "That took a great deal of courage."

Lyra nodded, but she barely heard him. Her mind was still racing, grappling with what had just happened. She had known, deep down, that she feared her father's disapproval, but seeing it so vividly, so publicly—it was a shock she hadn't been prepared for.

As the class ended and the students filed out, Blaise caught up with her. His usual nonchalant expression was tinged with concern as he fell into step beside her.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

Lyra nodded, though her thoughts were still jumbled. "Yeah," she murmured, glancing back at the now-closed wardrobe. "I think so."

"Don't worry about it," Blaise said, his voice casual but reassuring. "Everyone's got something they're afraid of. And honestly, it's not surprising, considering your father."

Lyra gave him a faint smile, appreciating his attempt to make her feel better. But even as they walked away, she couldn't shake the image of her father from her mind, or the cold dread that had settled in her chest.

The encounter with the Boggart had opened a door she wasn't sure she was ready to walk through. But one thing was clear—her relationship with her father, and the fear that came with it, was something she could no longer ignore.

-VI-

SIRI, IS GOYLE AN IDIOT?

In the Slytherin common room that morning, Lyra Malfoy was chattering animatedly with Crabbe and Goyle, her voice carrying a hint of excitement. They were all heading down to their Care of Magical Creatures lesson with Hagrid, and while Lyra's companions seemed more interested in causing trouble, she was genuinely curious about the magical creatures they might encounter.

When they reached Hagrid's hut, Lyra noticed that the Gryffindors were already present there. With a sigh, she ignored Blaise's smirk directed at her. Hagrid was waiting at the door, dressed in his usual moleskin overcoat looking eager to begin.

"C'mon, now, get a move on!" Hagrid called out as the class gathered around. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"

As Hagrid led the class around the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Lyra felt a mix of excitement and apprehension. The forest was a place of danger and mystery, and though they weren't going inside, just being near it made her shiver a little. It reminded her of first year, walking alongside Potter in the middle of the night.

Soon, they arrived at a paddock. Lyra peered over the fence, but there was nothing inside.

"Everyone gather 'round the fence here!" Hagrid called. "That's it—make sure yeh can see—now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books—"

"How?" Lyra asked, her voice soft.

Hagrid looked momentarily confused, and then his face fell as he realized what she meant. Lyra pulled out her copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, bound shut with a length of silver ribbon. Others in the class had similarly tied, belted, or clamped their books shut.

"Hasn'—hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?" Hagrid asked, sounding disappointed.The class shook their heads.

"Yeh've got ter stroke 'em," said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. He took Hermione's copy and gently ran a massive finger down its spine. The book shivered and then fell open, lying quietly in his hand.

Lyra watched in fascination as the book calmed down. Hagrid looked at the students, a little sheepish. "Thought it was funny, I did."

Lyra smiled encouragingly, but Crabbe snorted, drawing attention away from her. "Funny?" he said with a sneer. "More like dangerous."

"Shut up, Crabbe," Lyra said quietly, but firmly. She didn't want Hagrid to feel bad.

"Malfoy, get your lackeys in control," Potter rolled his eyes at her.

"God, you really don't know when to stop talking, do you?" said Lyra loudly. 'Get your lackeys in control,' he did realize that she was not their mother, right?

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry repeated.

"Careful, Potter, there's a dementor behind you —"

Hagrid, looking a bit flustered, interrupted the two. "Righ' then," he said, "so—so yeh've got yer books an'—an'—now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I'll go an' get 'em. Hang on..."

He disappeared into the forest, leaving the students to murmur among themselves. Lyra noticed Crabbe and Goyle whispering and exchanging knowing looks. She had a bad feeling about what they were planning, but before she could say anything, Hagrid returned, leading a dozen of the most fascinating creatures she had ever seen.

"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"

Lyra's eyes widened as she took in the sight of the Hippogriffs. They were magnificent, with the bodies of horses and the heads, wings, and talons of eagles. Each one was a different color, and their sharp beaks and brilliant orange eyes gave them a majestic, if slightly intimidating, appearance.

"So," said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer—"

No one moved. In fact, Lyra subconsciously took a step back. The Hippogriffs were tossing their heads and flexing their wings, clearly not happy about being tethered.

"Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' Hippogriffs is, they're proud," Hagrid continued. "Easily offended, Hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do."

Crabbe and Goyle, however, were barely listening. She shot them a warning look, but they ignored her, snickering among themselves. Blaise shook his head at her, asking her not to get involved in their antics.

"Yeh always wait fer the Hippogriff ter make the firs' move," Hagrid explained. "It's polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, an' yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed ter touch him. If he doesn' bow, then get away from him sharpish, 'cause those talons hurt."

Hagrid looked around expectantly, but the class was silent. Even the Gryffindors seemed hesitant. Lyra felt a knot of nervousness in her stomach just looking at the grand creature.

"I'll do it," Potter said, stepping forward.

Crabbe snickered again, but Lyra ignored him, focusing instead on the gray Hippogriff that Hagrid had untethered. It stared at her with piercing orange eyes, and Lyra felt a wave of anxiety, but she remembered Hagrid's instructions. She took a deep breath, walked slowly toward the creature, and gave a short, respectful bow.

The Hippogriff continued to stare at her, and for a tense moment, Lyra thought it wasn't going to respond. But then, to her relief, it bent its front knees and returned the bow.

There was an intake of breath from behind Lyra, where the Gryffindors had gathered, and both Lavender Brown and Parvati Patel whispered, "Oooh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!"

Potter ignored them. He climbed over the paddock fence.

"Good man, Harry!" roared Hagrid. "Right then — let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak."

He untied one of the chains, pulled the gray hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped off its leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath.

"Easy, now, Harry," said Hagrid quietly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink. . . . Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much. . . ."

Potter's eyes were visibly beginning to water, but he didn't shut them. Buckbeak had turned his great, sharp head and was staring at the boy with one fierce orange eye.

"Tha's it," said Hagrid. "Tha's it, Harry . . . now, bow . . ."

The hippogriff was still staring haughtily at him. It didn't move.

"Ah," said Hagrid, sounding worried. "Right — back away, now, Harry, easy does it —"

But then, to Lyra's surprise, the hippogriff suddenly bent its scaly front knees and sank into what was an unmistakable bow.

"Well done, Harry!" said Hagrid, ecstatic. "Right — yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!"

Meanwhile, Crabbe and Goyle had taken over the gray Hippogriff, which had bowed to Crabbe after some initial hesitation. Goyle, however, seemed more interested in making trouble. He reached out and tugged on the creature's feathers, causing it to rear back, flapping its wings in agitation.

Soon enough Potter was going on a ride on Buckbeak, flying away from them, the wind sweeping his hair. Lyra, though annoyed that Potter was at the spotlight, again, had to admit that it was truly a beautiful sight.

"Good work, Harry!" roared Hagrid when the boy came back to the ground. "Okay, who else wants a go?"

Hagrid untied the hippogriffs one by one, and soon people were bowing nervously, all over the paddock. Longbottom ran repeatedly backward from his, which didn't seem to want to bend its knees. Lyra joined Hermione as she practiced on the chestnut.

"It's so beautiful creature, is it not?" Hermione murmured. Though Lyra was offended that the Granger girl did not want her fellow Gryffindors to know that they were friendly, she kept it to herself. This was better than nothing– especially after the way she had treated Granger the year before.

"Absolutely gorgeous," Lyra admitted, "I have always liked su–" The girl was interrupted by the loud, nasty voice of Gregory, who seemed to be, as she had rightly suspected, on his way to cause some trouble or the other.

"This is very easy," Goyle drawled, loud enough for all of the students present to hear him. "I knew it must have been, if puny Potter could do it. . . . I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" he said to the hippogriff. "Are you, you great ugly brute?"

"Stop that, Goyle!" Lyra snapped, stepping forward. "You're going to—"

But before she could finish, the Hippogriff lashed out with its talons, slashing through the air. Lyra instinctively pushed Gregory out of the way, but in doing so, she felt a sharp pain as the talons grazed her arm. She stumbled back, clutching her sleeve as blood seeped through the fabric.

The class erupted into chaos. Hagrid rushed over, his face pale with worry as he wrestled the Hippogriff back under control.

"Lyra!" he exclaimed, his voice thick with concern. "Are yeh alright?"

"Am I going to be fine?" Lyra managed to ask through gritted teeth, though her arm throbbed with pain.

"Yes, yer not dyin'!" said Hagrid, who had gone very white. "Someone help me — gotta get her outta here —"

Goyle muttered an apology, but Lyra didn't pay him any more attention. Hagrid was already at her side, examining her arm with gentle hands.

"Let's get yeh to Madam Pomfrey," he said, his voice filled with guilt. "Should've been more careful—"

"I'm sorry, Hagrid," Lyra said quietly. "It was not your fault."

As Hagrid rushed the girl to the infirmary, she could only hope that her father never found out.