CHAPTER ONE

twist fate and then laugh

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, LYRA'S POV

1991

first year

-I-

THE MEETING AT DIAGON ALLEY

It was early in the years, when eleven-year old Lyra Malfoy was walking around Diagon Alley with her mother. Her father was absent today, to no one's surprise, saying that he had some work away at the ministry. He did promise to join them later to buy books. The eleven-year old Malfoy was ranting away at her mother about the famous Harry Potter.

Ever since her mother had told the girl the tale about a small boy who was able to vanquish the Dark Lord, one can say, Lyra was obsessed. More so, when she heard that the said boy was going to be in her year at Hogwarts! Oh Merlin, she wished he would be a Slytherin with her.

"Mama, who do you think Harry Potter lives with now?" She asked Narcissa, who held her hand in a tight grip.

"Well, I have heard he lives with some relatives in London," Narcissa smiled at her daughter. "I believe his mother had a muggle sister."

Lyra scrunched up her face, a mixture of disgust and sadness suddenly on it, "I wonder if he even knows what magic is. Papa says muggles don't know anything at all."

Narcissa turned to her daughter sharply, "Lyra Malfoy, I have taught you much better manners than that. Muggles may not be like us, but they are special all on their own."

"Sorry Mama," Lyra bit her lip. Her mother rarely lost her temper, so when she did, the girl knew she had messed up. She turned to her mother again, "Do you think he had a nice childhood? Harry Potter, I mean. Without his parents?"'

Narcissa smiled softly, "I wouldn't know, dear but I can only hope so. Don't tell your own father about this but I knew Harry's father when we were young, ah, so many years ago."

Lyra's eyes widened dramatically, "What? Why have you never told me this?"

"I didn't think it was necessary," Narcissa shrugged, "James was friends with... my cousin. We were all very close back then. I knew Lily too, briefly, but James was a constant headache when I was a prefect."

Lyra laughed, "What about your cousin?"

Narcissa was silent for a few moments as she led the two around the marketplace. Then she spoke, the pain in her voice oblivious to the eleven-year old girl. "Sirius was my best friend when we were kids. We drifted apart a little when he was placed in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. That was a first in the Black family, and we no longer talked as much. I am glad he had James throughout his years in Hogwarts."

Lyra smiled while her mother continued, "I do hope Harry Potter had a nice childhood, I hope for James' sake that he did."

"Where is Sirius now, Mama? How come I have never met him?"

Narcissa turned sharply at her daughter before pointing at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "We are here, Lyra. Go on in and get your school robes fitted. If you wish to get anything else from here, now is your chance. Meanwhile, I'll go and get your books because I doubt your father will arrive anytime soon."

With that, her mother had left her at the dress shop. Lyra soon found one of the tailors and asked them to have her school robes fitted.

The tailor led Lyra Malfoy onto a footstool, draping her in luxurious fabrics that glimmered in the shop's light. Each piece was carefully chosen, beautiful yet practical, designed to reflect the prestige of her family. As the tailor fussed over measurements, Lyra stood still, her mind wandering.

Her attention snapped back as the door swung open, letting in a young boy clad in ill-fitting clothes. He shuffled next to her, noticeably shorter, and Lyra allowed herself a small, smug smile. Victory, however small, was still a victory. Their eyes met—grey locked onto green—and a strange flutter in her stomach caught her off guard.

Those eyes were the most striking she had ever seen, though marred by the absurd spectacles perched on his nose. Trying to get rid of this odd sensation, Lyra cleared her throat, hoping to shift her focus from his gaze. "Hullo. Hogwarts too?"

The boy hesitated, blinking as if unsure whether to respond, before finally giving a tentative "Yes."

Awkward silence stretched between them, filled only by the rustle of fabric and the tailor's mumbled instructions. Lyra considered dropping the conversation, dismissing the boy as another poorly-dressed child with no sense of style or decorum.

Yet, for appearances' sake, she decided to continue. "My mother's next door buying my books, and after this, we will be going to look at wands. I wish I could take a broom; first-years are not allowed, but I think if I pester father enough, I could smuggle one in."

Her words hung in the air, an invitation for conversation. "Have you got a broom?" she asked, genuinely curious.

The boy stared blankly, responding simply, "No."

Lyra's curiosity quickly turned to disdain. She had hoped for more from this mysterious boy, perhaps a shared interest in Quidditch or at least some sign of magical competence. "Do you play Quidditch?" she pressed, her tone cooling with each word.

"No," the boy replied, still as dull as ever. His eyes, so vivid and expressive moments ago, now seemed vacant, and she came to the conclusion that he must be a Muggle-born.

Lyra studied him with a critical eye, frustration gnawing at her patience. She wasn't accustomed to dealing with people so clueless about the wizarding world, and it showed in her voice as she continued, "Do you have any idea what house you will be in?"

"No." He merely shrugged, the question seeming lost on him.

She doubted he even knew what Hogwarts houses were, much less what they represented. With a sigh, she made one last effort to maintain a veneer of friendliness. "Well, no one really knows until they get there, but I'll be in Slytherin, just like my family. If it was anything else, like, say Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave."

From what her mother just told her, Sirius was a Gryffindor and it must have been a great issue too, since she had never met him. Almost like how she had never met her cousin Nymphadora either, since her aunt had gone off and married some Hufflepuff. It was clear that in the Malfoy and the Black family, Slytherin was not just a preference; it was a legacy.

The boy hummed, disinterested, which was the last straw for Lyra. Who did this boy think he was, dismissing her like she was just another stranger on the street? Annoyance flared within her, but she forced herself to remain composed, channeling her frustration into a subtle pout as she turned away.

A deep breath calmed her frayed nerves, and she gazed out the shop window, catching sight of a towering figure moving through the throng of Diagon Alley. He held two massive ice creams, his presence unmistakably peculiar yet fascinating.

Lyra's curiosity piqued once more, this time directed at the unusual man rather than the dull boy beside her. "I say, look at that man!" she exclaimed, intrigued by his appearance.

"That's Hagrid." The boy perked up, and for a moment, he seemed almost alive, his features softening from their previous blankness. In that brief instance, he was quite striking to look at that.

"He works at Hogwarts," the boy added, his voice carrying a hint of familiarity with the half-giant.

"Some sort of servant, isn't he?" Lyra asked, her curiosity tinged with a trace of Malfoy arrogance.

"He's the gamekeeper," the boy clarified, his tone firm.

Lyra continued, recounting the things her father had said with a faint air of superiority. "My father told me that he is a savage, he is! Lives in a hut in the school grounds, tries to do magic, and fails. He gets drunk every now and then too."

"I think he's brilliant," the boy interjected, his voice now cool and resolute.

Lyra's curiosity turned to mild irritation. This boy, who initially seemed so fascinating, was beginning to wear on her nerves with his attitude. "Do you?" she asked, almost sneering. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," the boy replied flatly, as if it were just a mundane fact.

Lyra felt her heart jolt with an unfamiliar heaviness. She loved her mother deeply, and the thought of losing her was unimaginable. Her father, too, held a special place in her heart, despite his cold ways. "Oh, I—I am sorry." Words escaped her, so she stammered out the only thing she could think of. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean," he replied, a touch of defiance in his tone.

"I am not as pre—prejudiced? I think that's what they call it. I am not as prejudiced as my father. I think all witches and wizards are fine as long as they have magic. It's just better when your parents are such too. What's your surname, anyway?" Lyra asked, last feeble attempt.

Before the boy could answer, Madam Malkin finished adjusting his robes, and he slipped away, joining the towering man outside.

Lyra watched him leave, a strange mixture of relief and curiosity lingering in her chest. "See you at Hogwarts then, strange boy," she whispered, mostly to herself, as the boy and Hagrid disappeared into the bustling crowd beyond the shop's door.

-II-

GOING TO HOGWARTS AND MEETING FUTURE GRIFFINDORKS

The month after visiting Diagon Alley was a quick one, and soon the time had come to go to Hogwarts, and as Narcissa put it— "start a new life." Lyra was terrified of going to Hogwarts, if she had to be completely honest but she had done a good job in hiding it, so far. Her hand shook a little as her mother led her through the crowd, her father pushing her trunk towards platform nine and three-quarters.

"Lyra, sweetheart," Narcissa spoke softly, the kind tone that only a mother could have, "Are you feeling quite alright?"

"Yes, I am fine," Lyra bit her lips before she stopped walking and turned to her mother. "I am scared, Mama. What if I am not a Slytherin? What if people don't like me? What if—"

"Woah, calm down, Dru," Dru, from her middle name Druella, was a name only her mother ever used. "If you are not in Slytherin then some other house will be extremely lucky to have a witch as extraordinary as you. I will love you regardless of which house you are in. And don't worry about people not liking you, you are a great girl."

Lyra smiled at her mother fondly, before admitting, "I have never lived away from you before. What happens if I need you, Ma?"

"I am just a letter away," Narcissa caressed her face. "I will write to you everyday if you want, and you will be just fine as long as you remember that kindness is a virtue and camaraderie is a gift."

"What's cama—camaraderie?"

"Trust. Friendship. You will know when you find it."

"Narcissa!" Her father's voice was loud and booming. Lucius Malfoy was a man who commanded respect in every room. "The train will leave soon."

They hurried over to the trains and loaded her luggage in. It was a beautiful day to start Hogwarts, indeed.

"Now, Lyra," Her father spoke, "Remember to not get into any trouble. If I hear even a peep about you from Severus, I will send you off to Ilvermorny to live with the Americans."

"Yes, Papa."

"If anyone gives you any trouble, send me a letter and don't forget to practice quidditch!" Lucius would have said more but he stopped as Narcissa tugged his hand.

"Take care of yourself, Lyra," Her father said as she got onto the train. A new feeling tugged at her chest. Freedom? It was overwhelming and beautiful at the same time.

Her mother almost had tears in her eyes as she said, "Your father and I love you very much, Dru. Do well!"

The Malfoy girl turned around from her parents faces before she could cry and be branded as the oversensitive girl from first year. She was practically a big girl now, and it was about time she acted like it.

She walked along the train, trying find somewhere to sit when a brown-haired girl practically fell on top of her. With a loud thud, Lyra and the girl both fell to the floor.

"Oh!" The girl exclaimed, "I am so sorry! Oh my— Let me help you up."

She was a pretty girl, with only a thick bush of brown hair that needed to be fixed up. She looked at Lyra with gleaming brown eyes. Like the Malfoy girl, she was already in her school robes.

Lyra smiled. She wasn't going to make a bad impression on her first day, not like how she probably already had with the strange boy at the robes shop. "It's okay."

The girl's smile turned even brighter. She shoved her hand in front of Lyra.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she stated as if it were a fact from a book. "First year. And you?"

Lyra stood up from the fall and met the girl's gaze, nodding elegantly; they were around the same height, but this new girl seemed slightly taller.

"I am Lyra Malfoy," The girl answered, vaguely feeling the Hogwarts Express leaving the station. "Granger, was it? I'm quite unfamiliar with that name."

"Oh, I'm Muggle-born, you see." Hermione smiled toothily, revealing large buck teeth. "My parents are dentists."

Her father's disdainful look came to Lyra's mind but she ignored it. "Dentists? What is that?"

"They work with teeth," Hermione led her to an empty compartment, raising her head proudly. "They are like Muggle Healers for teeth."

In her conversation with Hermione, Lyra almost missed the fact that the compartment wasn't exactly empty. In a corner sat a small, pudgy boy, with a shy face. He quite literally squeaked when the Malfoy girl's eyes met his, clutching a toad to his chest.

"I am Lyra Malfoy and this is Hermione Granger." she nodded. "May I ask your name?"

"Ye— Yes," the boy replied timidly. "Neville. Neville Longbottom."

Lyra had obviously heard that name. After all, it was why one of her aunts was rotting away in Azkaban. Not that she didn't deserve it, because if one was to ask Lyra, Aunt Bellatrix deserved worse.

Longbottom mumbled something then. "My gran says to stay away from your family. Says you are bad people."

"Neville!" Hermione snapped in shock.

"Um," Lyra was surprised by that too but she quickly collected herself. "Do I seem like a bad person to you?"

"N-no." He admitted.

Lyra was about to say something else when her childhood friends (associates? people she sometimes tolerated?) Crabbe and Goyle took her to another compartment. There sat a boy named Blaise Zabini there and also a girl named Pansy Parkinson. The rest of the journey flew by at the blink of an eye.

When they were about to reach Hogwarts station, a young girl named Parvati Patel bursted into their compartment. "Have you heard? Harry Potter is in the train with us! The Weasley twins said they met him."

Lyra got up at once, considering it a quest to go and find the boy she had been obsessing over for years. Harry Potter was the savior of the Wizarding World. It was very important for her to make a good impression! Her celebrity crush, as her mother called it was now her year mate! Oh, she just had to impress him.

As she walked to the compartment that Parvati had said was his, she noticed that Crabbe and Goyle were right behind her, acting as bodyguards or such.

"You don't have to follow me around, Vincent," she sneered but the boy just shrugged.

"Our fathers have told us to keep you safe, Lyra," he said. "Where you go, we go too."

Lyra rolled her eyes, "Well, then do it from a distance you baboon."

Both the boys stepped back as she entered the compartment with a huge smile on her face. "Is it true?" she asked, the second she entered. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

She didn't know which of the two exactly, until her eyes focused on one particular boy sitting next to a redhead. One particular boy with memorable green eyes and a scruffy appearance.

It was him!

Lyra withheld a gasp as she recalled their terrible interaction at Madam Malkin's. No, this was bad, this was disgraceful, this was the worst thing that could ever happen to her. Oh, God! Oh no! Oh, Mer—

"Yes," the boy, who was bloody Harry Potter, answered. He solidified that fact when he ran a hand through his unkempt hair, revealing a lightning-shaped scar.

"This is Crabbe and Goyle," Lyra introduced upon seeing Harry Potter's gaze, managing to collect herself in time. His eyes showed obvious recognition. "And I am Malfoy. Lyra Malfoy."

The ginger, who was a Weasley, no doubt, coughed a laugh. Lyra fumed, how dare he? Sure, her name was not the best, but it was borne of tradition. Every Black was named after a constellation. Her name was part of a great legacy!

She bristled in offense. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. Red hair and a hand-me-down robe. You must be a Weasley. Far too many of you, with barely enough to manage everyone." She spat the name, saying it exactly how her father usually did.

She turned to Harry Potter, "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort," she said and stuck out a hand, smiling so she could seem friendlier. "I can help you, you know."

Things would be alright! He will accept her offer, she would apologize for her earlier behavior and the two of them could ride off into the sunset.

But Lyra's dreams were all crushed when Potter spoke. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."

Just like that, Lyra's hopes were shattered. Potter's scornful look did not help her broken heart.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," Lyra warned. She didn't bother holding in her anger, which was now a hot pile of disdain. "Unless you're a bit politer, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raffs like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it'll rub off on you."

"Say that again," Weasley growled, both the boys standing up.

"Oh you are going to fight us, are you?" Lyra sneered. She could probably fight them off, but really, all she wanted to do was cry.

"Unless you get out now, which I really think you should." Potter's voice was firm, so unlike the nervous and awkward boy in the robe shop.

Harry Potter is a big-arsed dunderhead, she thought in her head as she turned around and ran off to find the washroom, leaving Crabbe and Goyle behind. If Lyra's heart was a flower, it was now wilted, Potter's words were poison instead of water. She would never forgive him.

Harry Potter was the first boy to break Lyra Malfoy's heart but Merlin, believe her, he would also be the last.