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The journey to Hogwarts had begun in darkness. The train had disappeared behind them some time ago, leaving the first-years gathered at the edge of the lake beneath the night sky. Lyra stood among them, her robes still neat despite the long journey. Around her, voices rose and fell. Some students whispered excitedly. Others looked nervous. A few seemed close to panic. Lyra watched them without comment. She had spent years hearing about Hogwarts. She had imagined its towers. Its halls. Its classrooms. Its four Houses. She had imagined herself walking through its doors wearing the Malfoy name. Now there was no need to imagine anymore. Hogwarts was waiting. A deep voice broke through the noise. "First years! This way!" Hagrid stood beside the small boats waiting at the water's edge.
Lyra looked at him for a moment. She had heard enough about Rubeus Hagrid from her family to know that he was not someone the Malfoys considered particularly important. But tonight, he was the one taking them to the castle. She stepped toward the boats. Harry Potter was somewhere among the crowd. Lyra noticed him almost immediately. She didn't mean to. She simply did. He stood with a red-haired boy beside him. Ron Weasley. She recognized the name before she remembered the face. The Weasleys had been mentioned at Madam Malkin's. Old wizarding family. Pure-blood. Poor. Lyra's eyes lingered for a moment. Then moved back to Harry. He was looking toward the lake. There was something different about his expression. He wasn't trying to look impressive. He wasn't trying to look important.
He simply looked... amazed. Lyra almost frowned. Harry Potter was staring at Hogwarts as though he had never seen anything like it. Of course he hadn't. She had to remind herself of that. He had grown up among Muggles. For him, this was all new. For Lyra, it was something she had been raised to expect. Or at least, that was what she told herself. The boats began moving. Hagrid guided them across the black water. The lake was almost perfectly still. Lanterns flickered against the darkness. The castle appeared gradually beyond the cliffs. At first, Lyra saw only lights. Then towers. Then walls. Then the enormous shape of Hogwarts rose before them. The first-years fell silent. Even Lyra did. The castle seemed to stretch endlessly upward. Its towers disappeared into the night.
Hundreds of windows glowed against the darkness. For several seconds, Lyra simply stared. She had seen drawings. She had heard descriptions. None of them had prepared her for this. Hogwarts was larger than she had imagined. Older. More imposing. It looked less like a school and more like a world that had existed long before any of them and would continue long after they were gone. The boat passed beneath a curtain of ivy and entered the underground harbour. The journey was over. The first-years climbed out. Hagrid gathered them together. "Come on, now. Follow me." They followed. Lyra walked near the front. Harry wasn't far behind. She could hear the red-haired boy talking to him. Something about the castle. Something about what they might find inside. Lyra didn't listen for long.
The enormous wooden doors opened. They entered. The corridors seemed even larger from the inside. Then came the ghosts. One drifted through a wall. Several students gasped. Someone behind Lyra made a small noise of surprise. She glanced toward the ghost and then continued walking. She had been taught not to make a spectacle of herself. Still, even she couldn't completely hide her fascination. Hagrid stopped. A stern-looking witch stood waiting for them. Professor McGonagall. Lyra recognized her immediately. McGonagall's gaze passed over the students. "Welcome to Hogwarts." Her voice was firm. Professional. There was no need to raise it. The students became quiet anyway. McGonagall explained that they would soon enter the Great Hall and be sorted into their Houses. Lyra listened carefully.
Gryffindor. Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw. Slytherin. Four Houses. Four traditions. Four identities. Lyra already knew which one belonged to her. Slytherin. There had never really been a question. Her family had been associated with the House for generations. Her father had spoken about it. Her mother had spoken about it. The name Malfoy belonged there. So did Lyra. At least, that was what she believed. McGonagall opened the doors. The Great Hall appeared before them. Lyra stopped. For the first time that evening, she understood why Harry had looked so amazed. The ceiling seemed to be open to the night sky. Hundreds of candles floated overhead. Four long tables stretched across the enormous room. Students from every year turned to watch the newcomers. Whispers spread through the Hall.
The first-years walked forward. Lyra kept her chin raised. She could feel eyes on her. Some of them recognized the name. Others were simply curious. She didn't care. She had been prepared for this. She belonged here. Across the room, Harry looked up. Their eyes met. Only for a moment. But Lyra remembered him. The boy from Madam Malkin's. The boy who had refused her hand. Harry looked away first. Lyra almost smiled. Then Professor McGonagall placed a battered old hat upon a stool. The Sorting Hat began to sing. Lyra listened. The four Houses were described. Their qualities. Their traditions. Their differences. Then the hat was quiet. McGonagall unfolded her list. "Abbott, Hannah." A girl stepped forward. The Sorting began. One name after another. Students crossed the room. Houses cheered.
Some students looked relieved. Others looked stunned. Lyra waited. She remained perfectly still. Until one name caused the entire Hall to change. "Potter, Harry." The whispers began immediately. Lyra looked up. So did nearly everyone else. There he was. The boy from the train. The boy who had refused her hand. But suddenly he wasn't simply Harry. He was Harry Potter. The name carried weight. She could feel it in the room. Students whispered it. Some stared. Others leaned closer to their friends. Even those who didn't know the story behind the name seemed to know that it mattered. Lyra watched Harry walk toward the stool. He looked smaller beneath the enormous ceiling. Almost ordinary. Yet the entire Great Hall was watching him. She remembered what her parents had taught her about names.
About families. About reputation. And now she found herself wondering something she hadn't considered before. Where would Harry Potter belong? The Sorting Hat was lowered onto his head. Harry disappeared beneath its brim. The Hall waited. Lyra waited too. For reasons she couldn't explain, she found herself wanting to know the answer. Not because she cared where Harry Potter belonged. At least, that was what she told herself. She simply wanted to see what the Hat would decide. After all... If Harry Potter was going to be at Hogwarts, Lyra thought, she ought to know which side of the castle he would call home. And then the Hat began to speak. The Great Hall had fallen silent. Harry sat upon the stool. The Sorting Hat covered his head, its worn brim hanging low over his eyes.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the Hat spoke. Not aloud. At least, not to everyone. Harry heard the voice inside his head. "Hmm..." It seemed to consider him. Harry sat very still. He had been told about the Houses only a short while ago. Gryffindor. Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw. Slytherin. He knew almost nothing about them. But he knew enough about Slytherin. He had heard the name before. And there was something about it that made him uneasy. The Hat seemed to notice. "Slytherin could help you." Harry didn't know exactly what that meant. He only knew that he didn't want it. Not Slytherin. The thought came quickly. The Hat paused. "No?" Harry remained silent. For several seconds, the Hat seemed to search through something Harry couldn't see.
There were qualities inside him that Harry himself had barely begun to understand. Determination. Courage. A willingness to stand his ground even when he was frightened. And something else. Something the Hat recognized. Harry was not entirely certain what he wanted. But he knew what he didn't want. And that was enough. "Better be..." The pause seemed to last forever. Then the Hat shouted: "GRYFFINDOR!" The Great Hall erupted. The Gryffindor table burst into applause. Several students cheered. Ron was practically glowing. Harry pulled the Hat from his head and stood. For a moment, he simply looked around. Then he smiled. He walked toward the Gryffindor table. Lyra watched him go. She didn't move. She didn't speak. But something inside her had changed. Harry Potter was going to Gryffindor.
Of course he was. She had known there was a possibility. Still... For some reason, she felt something she couldn't quite identify. Disappointment. Lyra frowned at herself. That was ridiculous. She had no reason to care where Harry Potter was sorted. She had met him once before today. Barely. He was simply another first-year. A boy she happened to have spoken to in Diagon Alley. A boy who had refused her hand. That was all. And yet, as Harry sat down beside Ron, Lyra found herself looking toward the Gryffindor table once more. He belonged there now. Officially. The thought felt strangely final. The students continued being sorted. Names came and went. Houses filled. The line of first-years slowly became shorter. Lyra remained where she was. Calm. Patient. Waiting.
Then Professor McGonagall looked down at her list. "Malfoy, Lyra." The whispers began almost immediately. Not loud. Not throughout the entire Hall. But enough. Lyra heard them. She knew what they meant. The name had arrived before she had. She lifted her chin slightly. Then walked forward. The distance to the stool seemed longer than it had looked from where she had been standing. She could feel people watching her. Some knew the family. Some probably knew only the name. That was enough. Lyra reached the stool. She sat. The Sorting Hat was placed over her head. The Great Hall disappeared into darkness. For the first time that evening, Lyra felt completely alone. Then the Hat spoke. "Well..." Lyra waited. "This is interesting." She said nothing.
The Hat seemed to look deeper than she expected. Past the carefully controlled expression. Past the lessons. Past the name. There was ambition there. Certainly. Lyra wanted to succeed. She wanted to be respected. She wanted to prove that she belonged among the people she had spent her entire childhood hearing about. There was pride too. The kind that came naturally to someone raised to believe her family stood above many others. And there was cunning. She knew how to listen. How to observe. How to choose her words. How to keep herself composed. The Hat considered all of it. But then it found something else. Stubbornness. Not merely the stubbornness of a Malfoy. Something more personal. Lyra wanted to prove herself. Not simply because her family expected it.
Because she expected it from herself. She wanted to walk into Hogwarts carrying the Malfoy name and leave knowing she had been worthy of it. The Hat seemed almost amused. "You certainly have ambition." Lyra remained silent. "And pride. Still nothing." "Quite a lot of both." For the first time, Lyra almost smiled. She knew. She had never pretended otherwise. The Hat continued considering her. There were other possibilities. Other qualities. But one House stood out. One place where her ambition could grow. One place where her determination would be understood. One place where the name she carried would feel like an advantage rather than a burden. The answer was obvious. The Hat shouted: "SLYTHERIN!" The Slytherin table erupted into applause. Lyra removed the Hat. She stood.
For a moment, she simply looked across the Great Hall. Then she saw him. Harry. He was sitting at the Gryffindor table. Watching her. Lyra stopped for half a second. Their eyes met. There was no smile. No wave. No gesture. Nothing that would suggest friendship. Harry simply watched her. Lyra watched him back. The distance between them seemed larger now. Not because either of them had moved. Because the Hat had placed a name between them. Gryffindor. Slytherin. Two Houses. Two tables. Two sides of the Great Hall. Lyra finally turned away. She walked toward the Slytherin table. Crabbe and Goyle were already there. Students moved aside to make room. The applause gradually faded. Lyra sat down. She looked toward the center of the Hall. Harry was still there. For just a moment, he looked back.
Then Ron said something to him. Harry turned away. Lyra lowered her eyes. She told herself it didn't matter. It was only Sorting. Only Houses. Only the beginning of school. But somewhere beneath the pride, beneath the Malfoy name, beneath everything she had been taught to believe about Hogwarts... Lyra understood one thing. Harry Potter was on the other side. And somehow, that made her want to know what he would do next. Not because she liked him. Not because she trusted him. Certainly not because she wanted to be his friend. That would have been absurd. He was a Gryffindor. She was a Slytherin. And if Hogwarts was going to be their home for the next seven years, then perhaps there was only one thing left to do. Find out which of them would prove the other wrong.
The rivalry had not begun yet. But the sides had been chosen. The feast began soon after the Sorting. Food appeared across the tables as if it had been waiting for the students all along. Roast meat. Potatoes. Vegetables. Puddings. Plates filled themselves. Goblets refilled. For several minutes, the first-years seemed to forget everything else. The nervousness that had followed them into the Great Hall slowly disappeared beneath the noise of conversation. Lyra sat at the Slytherin table and watched. She had expected Hogwarts to feel familiar. It didn't. The castle was familiar in the way a story could be familiar. The reality was different. There were too many people. Too many voices. Too many names.
And, for the first time in her life, Lyra was surrounded by children who had not grown up knowing exactly who she was. Some recognized the Malfoy name. Others didn't seem to care. That was new. Across the Great Hall, Harry was beginning to settle into his seat. The red-haired boy beside him was talking almost constantly. Lyra didn't need to hear every word to know who he was. Ron Weasley. Harry seemed amused by him. That surprised her. Harry had barely known him that afternoon. Yet already they were talking as though they had known each other for years. Lyra looked away. Then looked back. She couldn't help it. Ron was explaining something about the Houses. Harry listened. Hermione Granger sat nearby.
She had already introduced herself earlier, and there was something unmistakable about the way she spoke. She knew things. A lot of things. She spoke about Hogwarts as though she had spent months preparing for the moment she finally arrived. Books. Classes. Teachers. Rules. Harry listened politely. Ron seemed less impressed. Lyra watched them for another moment. Three children who had arrived at Hogwarts as strangers. Already becoming something closer to friends. She looked down at her own table. Crabbe was sitting nearby. Goyle sat on the other side. Both were large for their age. Neither seemed particularly interested in the finer details of conversation. They ate. They watched. They occasionally looked toward Lyra. Eventually, Crabbe leaned slightly toward her.
"You know that Harry Potter boy?" Lyra looked at him. "Yes." Goyle glanced toward the Gryffindor table. "He was in our compartment." Lyra raised an eyebrow. "And?" Goyle shrugged. "Nothing." Crabbe nodded. Lyra almost smiled. That seemed about right. She looked at the two boys again. They were not unpleasant. They were simply... simple. They had followed her because she was a Malfoy. That was obvious. She had known people like that all her life. People who listened when her father spoke. People who stepped aside when her mother entered a room. People who treated the family name as though it carried its own authority. But that wasn't friendship. Lyra understood the difference. At least, she thought she did. She returned her attention to the feast. Around her, Slytherin students talked.
Some older students occasionally glanced toward her. One or two smiled. The Malfoy name had arrived at Hogwarts. Lyra knew what was expected of her. She was supposed to fit in. She was supposed to make connections. She was supposed to represent her family properly. She straightened slightly. She could do that. She had been preparing for it all her life. Across the Great Hall, Ron was saying something to Harry. Lyra couldn't hear him. Harry glanced toward the Slytherin table. His eyes passed over several students. Then stopped. On her. Lyra noticed. Harry looked away. Ron continued speaking. Harry leaned closer to him. Lyra narrowed her eyes. What were they talking about? She immediately dismissed the thought. It was none of her concern. Harry could talk about whatever he wanted.
She didn't care. She took another bite of food. Then glanced over again. Harry was still listening to Ron. She looked away. A moment later, she looked back. This time Harry wasn't looking at her. Lyra frowned. Why had she expected him to be? She didn't know. She didn't like the question. At the Gryffindor table, Ron was still explaining Slytherin. Harry listened. He had heard the name before. He remembered the conversation in Diagon Alley. The warnings. The pride. The way Lyra had spoken about families. Ron told him that Slytherin had a reputation. Many dark witches and wizards had come from the House. Harry glanced toward the table again. Lyra was sitting there. She looked completely comfortable. Or at least she appeared to be. Harry remembered her hand. The way she had extended it.
The way she had expected him to take it. He remembered refusing. Then he remembered her expression afterward. She hadn't shouted. She hadn't insulted him. She had simply looked... surprised. Harry looked at her again. Of course she was a Slytherin. Somehow, it made perfect sense. Lyra happened to look across the Hall at the same moment. Their eyes met. Harry immediately turned back toward Ron. Lyra watched him for a second longer. Then she looked at her plate. She wondered what Ron had been saying. She wondered what Harry thought of Slytherin. She wondered if he thought she belonged there. Then she stopped herself. Why did she care? She didn't. She couldn't. Harry Potter was a Gryffindor. She was a Slytherin. That was all. The feast continued around them. Laughter filled the Great Hall.
Candles floated overhead. The enchanted ceiling showed the dark sky beyond. The castle was alive. For the first time, Lyra understood that Hogwarts would not simply be a place where she studied. It would be a place where people would decide who they were. Harry had already found two people to stand beside him. Ron. Hermione. Lyra had Crabbe and Goyle sitting nearby. They would follow her. She knew that. But as she looked across the Hall once more, she realized something she hadn't expected. Harry had found people who wanted to know Harry. People who didn't seem particularly interested in the legend. People who weren't impressed by the name. And somehow, that reminded her of something. A boy in a robe shop. A hand left unanswered. A name that had meant nothing to him. Lyra lowered her eyes.
Perhaps Hogwarts was going to be more complicated than she had expected. She wasn't sure whether that bothered her. Not yet. The feast eventually began to wind down. Students started leaving the tables. The first years prepared to follow their prefects toward their common rooms. Lyra stood with the other Slytherins. She looked once toward the Gryffindor table. Harry was already leaving. For a moment, she watched him disappear into the crowd. Then she turned away. She followed the Slytherins. Behind her, Hogwarts continued to hum with voices. Ahead of her waited the dungeons. A new House. A new life. And, somewhere above her, a boy she had already begun to notice far more than she wanted to admit. Not that Lyra would have admitted it. Not even to herself.
The first morning at Hogwarts began earlier than Lyra would have preferred. The Slytherin dormitories were still quiet when she woke. For a moment, she remained beneath the blankets, staring at the dark stone ceiling. Then she remembered. Hogwarts. Her first day of classes. Lyra sat up. The thought should have filled her with excitement. Instead, she felt something closer to determination. She dressed carefully. Her robes were straight. Her hair was neat. Her books were already arranged. There was no reason to be unprepared. A Malfoy did not arrive at a lesson wondering what might happen. A Malfoy arrived knowing. At least, that was what Lyra had been taught. By the time she reached the Great Hall, the castle was already alive. Students moved through the corridors in every direction.
Older students walked with the confidence of people who already knew where everything was. First-years looked considerably less certain. Lyra followed the Slytherins toward breakfast. She found a seat and placed her books beside her. Across the Hall, Harry was sitting with Ron and Hermione. Hermione already had a book open. Lyra recognized the title. She had read it. Of course she had. Hermione was explaining something to the boys. Ron looked as though he would rather be eating. Harry seemed to be listening. Lyra looked away. Her first lesson was soon afterward. Charms. Professor Flitwick stood at the front of the classroom, surrounded by books and parchment. The students settled into their seats. Lyra sat upright. She had studied charms before arriving. Not formally. But enough.
Her father had made certain that she understood the basics of magical theory. Her mother had insisted that she know the proper terminology. Lyra knew what was expected. Professor Flitwick asked the class a question. Lyra raised her hand. So did Hermione. Professor Flitwick called on Lyra first. She answered confidently. The professor smiled. "Excellent, Miss Malfoy." Lyra lowered her hand. She glanced toward Hermione. Hermione looked impressed. That was fine. Lyra had expected it. Then Professor Flitwick asked another question. This time Harry raised his hand. Lyra looked over. Harry answered. His response wasn't as polished as hers had been. But it was correct. Professor Flitwick praised him. Lyra frowned slightly. Harry lowered his hand. Ron leaned toward him.
Lyra returned her attention to the professor. Another question. This one was more complicated. Lyra knew the answer. She raised her hand. But before Professor Flitwick could call on anyone, Harry spoke. He added something to her answer. Lyra turned toward him. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Professor Flitwick. The professor considered the addition. "Very good, Potter." Lyra stared. Harry finally glanced toward her. Their eyes met. "What?" "he whispered." Lyra lowered her voice. "You added to my answer." Harry blinked. "You were finished." "I wasn't." "You stopped talking." "Because the professor was going to continue." Harry shrugged. "I thought he should know." Lyra narrowed her eyes. "You think you know everything." Harry looked genuinely confused. "No, I don't."
"Then why did you correct me?" "I didn't correct you." "You added to what I said." "That's not correcting you." "It is if you make it sound as though my answer wasn't complete." Harry stared at her for a moment. Then the corner of his mouth lifted. "You think you know everything." Lyra's expression hardened. "I know more than you." Ron, sitting beside Harry, looked between them. Hermione had stopped reading. Even she was watching now. Harry leaned slightly closer. "Do you?" Lyra didn't answer. Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. "Miss Malfoy. Mr. Potter. Both looked toward him." "Perhaps you would be so kind as to save your discussion for after the lesson." A few students laughed. Lyra straightened. Harry turned back toward the front. For several minutes, neither said anything.
Then Professor Flitwick asked another question. Harry raised his hand. Lyra raised hers at exactly the same time. They looked at each other. Harry smirked. Lyra didn't. At least, she tried not to. Professor Flitwick looked between them. "Mr. Potter." Harry answered. Lyra listened. His answer was good. Annoyingly good. Professor Flitwick praised him. Harry sat back down. Lyra waited. Then the professor asked another question. This time, Lyra answered first. Harry looked at her. She gave him the smallest possible smile. He rolled his eyes. It was beginning. Not a fight. Not yet. Something smaller. Something almost childish. But it was there. And once it had started, neither of them seemed particularly interested in stopping it. The pattern followed them into their next lessons.
Lyra knew the theory. Harry had instincts. Lyra knew the names of spells. Harry sometimes understood how they worked before he understood why. Lyra prepared. Harry adapted. Neither liked watching the other succeed. By lunchtime, Ron had noticed. "So," he said, looking at Harry, "is she always like that?" Harry glanced toward the Slytherin table. Lyra was speaking to another student. He shrugged. "Apparently." Ron grinned. "She's annoying." Harry looked at him. "Yes." Across the Hall, Lyra happened to glance toward them. She saw Ron laughing. Harry said something. Ron laughed harder. Lyra's eyes narrowed. She looked away. She had no idea what they were talking about. And she didn't care. At least, she told herself she didn't.
Later that afternoon, another lesson brought another disagreement. This time, Lyra answered a question before Harry could. Harry corrected one small detail. Lyra corrected his correction. Harry disagreed. Lyra challenged him. The professor eventually intervened. The entire exchange had lasted less than a minute. But when the lesson ended, they were still looking at each other. Harry gathered his books. "You really do think you know everything." Lyra picked up her own. "And you really do think you know better." Harry smiled. "Maybe I do." Lyra gave him a look. "Keep telling yourself that, Potter." She walked past him. Harry watched her go. Then he shook his head. "Malfoy. Neither of them realized it yet." But something had changed.
They were no longer simply two children who happened to know each other's names. They were beginning to measure themselves against one another. Every answer. Every lesson. Every challenge. Every victory. And somewhere beneath all the irritation, something neither of them had a name for yet was beginning to form. Not affection. Not friendship. Certainly not love. Something much simpler. Competition. And Hogwarts had given them seven years to become very good at it. By the end of their first week at Hogwarts, certain things had begun to settle into place. Harry Potter was almost never alone. At breakfast, he usually sat beside Ron. At lunch, Ron was there again.
Between lessons, the two of them could often be found walking together through the corridors, talking about something that seemed important to them and completely unimportant to everyone else. Sometimes Hermione was there as well. She was different from the two boys. She was always carrying a book. She answered questions before anyone else had finished raising their hand. She corrected people. Often, she corrected Ron. And Ron, in return, seemed to have developed a particular talent for looking irritated whenever she spoke. Lyra noticed all of it. She noticed far more than she intended to. From the Slytherin table, she occasionally looked across the Great Hall and found Harry surrounded by the same people. The red-haired Weasley. The Muggle-born girl. Always them. It was strange.
Not because Harry was popular. He was. Everyone knew who Harry Potter was. It was strange because of who he had chosen. Lyra had been raised with certain ideas long before she ever understood why they existed. The Malfoy family was old. The Malfoy name carried weight. There were families worth knowing and families that were not. There were people who belonged in certain circles and people who did not. The Weasleys, according to everything Lyra had been taught, belonged nowhere near the Malfoys. Not because they were dangerous. Because they were beneath them. Too many children. Too little money. Too little ambition. And Hermione was even more difficult to place. A Muggle-born. Bright, certainly. Annoyingly bright, sometimes. But still a Muggle-born.
Lyra had never been told that people like Hermione were incapable of magic. Quite the opposite. The fact that Hermione could perform magic at all was precisely why the subject had always been complicated. Blood mattered. Names mattered. History mattered. That was simply how the world worked. At least, that was what Lyra had been taught. And Harry seemed determined to behave as though none of it did. One afternoon, Lyra found herself watching him from the other side of the corridor. Harry was walking beside Ron. Hermione was a few steps ahead, reading while she walked. It was an impressive demonstration of how little attention she paid to where she was going. Ron was saying something. Harry laughed. Actually laughed. Lyra stopped. Crabbe nearly walked into her. "Sorry," he muttered.
Lyra barely noticed. Her eyes remained on Harry. He looked completely comfortable. As though Hogwarts had belonged to him for years. As though Ron was exactly the sort of person he was supposed to be spending his time with. As though Hermione being Muggle-born had never even crossed his mind. Lyra's expression tightened. It was ridiculous. Harry Potter had been at Hogwarts for barely a week. He had no idea how things worked. Someone ought to tell him. "Potter." Harry stopped. Ron stopped with him. Hermione looked over the top of her book. Lyra approached. Crabbe and Goyle followed a few steps behind her, as they usually did. Harry looked at Lyra. There was no surprise on his face. Only recognition.
He had already learned that whenever Lyra Malfoy approached him, she usually had something to say. "What?" "he asked." Lyra glanced toward Ron. Then toward Hermione. Then back to Harry. "You spend a lot of time with them." Ron looked at Harry. Harry looked at Ron. "Apparently." Lyra frowned. "I mean it." "So do I." Ron snorted. Hermione lowered her book slightly. Lyra ignored them. "I don't understand why." Harry folded his arms. "Why do you care?" "I don't." "Then why are you asking?" Lyra hesitated. It was an irritating question. She had approached him expecting an answer. Instead, he had immediately turned the question back on her. She recovered quickly. "Because you're making foolish choices." Ron laughed. Harry didn't. "Really?" "Yes." Harry glanced at Ron. Then at Hermione.
Then back at Lyra. "What exactly is foolish about it?" Lyra gestured toward Ron. "Him." Ron raised an eyebrow. "Me?" "You know what I mean." "No, "Ron said." "I don't think I do." Lyra looked at him. "You're a Weasley." Ron stared at her for a moment. Then looked at Harry. "Is that supposed to mean something?" "It does." Harry's expression changed slightly. Lyra noticed. She had seen that expression before. In Diagon Alley. At the robe shop. When she had spoken about family names and Harry had looked at her as though he genuinely couldn't understand why they mattered so much. Only this time, he didn't walk away. "You don't know anything about him, "Lyra said." Harry looked at Ron. "I know he's my friend." Lyra blinked.
The answer was so simple that it almost irritated her more than an argument would have. "That's not the point." "It is to me." Ron smiled. Lyra noticed. She did not like that smile. She turned her attention toward Hermione. "And her?" Hermione lowered her book completely. "What about me?" Lyra studied her. "You barely know her." Harry shrugged. "Neither did you." "I know enough." "" "How?" Lyra opened her mouth. Then closed it. She had an answer. She simply didn't know how to explain it without sounding like her parents. And she had no intention of sounding like her parents. "Some things are obvious," she said. Harry gave her a look. "That sounds like something someone says when they don't actually know." Ron laughed again. Even Hermione's mouth twitched. Lyra stared at Harry.
For a moment, nobody said anything. Then Lyra broke the silence. "You really don't understand how the world works." Harry's eyebrows rose. "Maybe." He paused. "Or maybe you don't. That stopped her." Crabbe shifted behind her. Goyle looked between them. Ron looked delighted. Lyra took a step closer. "You think you're very clever, don't you?" "No." Harry paused. Then added: "Not usually." Ron laughed loudly. Lyra's eyes narrowed. "You're impossible." "So I've been told." "By me." "Mostly." Ron laughed again. Hermione sighed. "You two are going to do this every time you see each other, aren't you?" Lyra looked at her. Harry looked at her. Neither answered. Hermione shook her head and returned to her book. Lyra turned back to Harry. "You should be careful."
Harry's expression became more serious. "Of what?" "Of who you trust." There it was. The same tone. The same warning. The same idea she had carried with her since before she had ever stepped into Hogwarts. Harry recognized it immediately. Perhaps that was why his answer came so quickly. "I can decide that myself." Lyra stared at him. For a moment, the corridor seemed quieter. It was almost the same answer he had given her before. Not the same words. The same meaning. Lyra straightened. "Of course you can." Harry nodded. "Good." "But don't say I didn't warn you." "Fine." "And when you realize I was right—" "I'll tell you." Lyra paused. "You'll tell me?" Harry nodded. "If you're right." Ron looked at him. "You're never going to admit she's right, are you?" Harry considered it.
"Probably not." Lyra's lips twitched. She caught herself. The expression disappeared almost immediately. "Good," she said. "Good, "Harry replied." They stared at each other. Neither moved. It wasn't friendship. It wasn't kindness. It wasn't even understanding. But it was something. Something new. Lyra finally turned away. "Come on." Crabbe and Goyle followed. She took several steps down the corridor before Ron's voice reached her. "Malfoy!" She stopped. She looked back. Harry was still standing there. Ron had a grin on his face. "She's got a point about one thing." Lyra raised an eyebrow. "What?" Ron pointed toward Hermione. "She really does talk too much." Hermione's head snapped up. "Ronald!" Harry burst out laughing. Lyra tried not to. She failed. Only for a second.
A small smile escaped before she turned away again. She walked down the corridor with Crabbe and Goyle behind her. "What's funny?" "Goyle asked." "Nothing." She kept walking. Her face was composed again. But the smile remained for another few seconds. Lyra was frustrated. Harry Potter was stubborn. He was reckless. He was surrounded by precisely the sort of people she had been taught to avoid. And, somehow, arguing with him had been different from arguing with anyone else. He hadn't simply listened. He hadn't backed down. He hadn't been impressed by her name. He had challenged her. Every time. Lyra reached the end of the corridor. For once, she didn't look back. She didn't need to. She already knew Harry was still there.
And, for the first time since meeting him, the rivalry felt like something that belonged to both of them. Not something Lyra had started alone. Something they were building together. She was still a Malfoy. Harry was still a Potter. They were still standing on opposite sides of Hogwarts. But now, when Lyra thought of Harry Potter, she no longer thought only of the boy who had refused her hand. She thought of the boy who had finally shaken back—not literally, but in the only way that seemed to matter to him. He had answered. And Lyra had liked the challenge. Not because she liked Harry. Not yet. She simply liked the game. And Harry, apparently, did too. The first weeks at Hogwarts had taught Lyra Malfoy several things. The castle was enormous. The lessons were harder than she had expected.
Professor Snape was considerably less patient than most of the teachers. And Neville Longbottom was almost always in some sort of trouble. He dropped things. He forgot things. He stumbled over words when called upon in class. His wandwork was often hesitant, and more than once he had nearly knocked over something simply by trying to pick it up. The other students noticed. Of course they did. Children noticed weakness quickly. Sometimes they laughed. Sometimes they whispered. Sometimes they simply watched. Lyra watched too. She didn't think much of it. Neville was a Gryffindor. That was enough to place him on the other side. And, unlike Harry, Neville had never given her a reason to pay particular attention to him. Until one afternoon.
The corridor outside the Charms classroom was crowded with first-years. Students were gathering their books, talking over one another as they prepared for their next lesson. Neville stood near the wall, struggling with the clasp of his bag. The books inside it had shifted somehow. One slipped out. Then another. Then the entire bag tipped sideways. Books scattered across the floor. A few students laughed. Neville's face turned red. "Sorry," he muttered. He hurried to collect them. One of the books slid beneath a bench. Neville reached for it. His hand missed. The book slipped farther away. Crabbe laughed. Goyle followed. Lyra glanced over. Neville finally managed to retrieve it. He stood, holding the book against his chest. For a moment, he looked around the corridor. Nobody helped him.
Lyra looked at the pile of books. Then at Neville. "You'd think you'd have learned how to carry a bag by now." Neville froze. Crabbe laughed again. Goyle did too. Lyra wasn't shouting. She wasn't even particularly angry. It was simply a remark. An observation. The kind of thing she had heard countless times growing up. Neville lowered his eyes. "I was trying." Lyra raised an eyebrow. "Clearly." A few more students laughed. Neville's grip tightened around his book. Then a voice came from behind her. "What's your problem?" Lyra turned. Harry was standing several feet away. Ron was beside him. Hermione was there too, holding several books against her chest. Harry was looking directly at Lyra. Lyra's expression hardened. "Excuse me?" "You heard me." Ron looked between them. "Oh, no."
Hermione sighed. "Here we go." Lyra glanced at Neville. Then back at Harry. "I was talking to him." "I noticed." "Then mind your own business." Harry took a step forward. "You're making fun of him." Lyra frowned. "So?" Harry looked at Neville. The boy was still standing there, visibly uncomfortable. Then Harry looked back at Lyra. "Why?" Lyra seemed genuinely confused by the question. "Because he's being ridiculous." Neville's face fell. Harry noticed. "That doesn't answer the question." "It doesn't need to." "It does to me." Lyra stared at him. The corridor had become quieter. Not silent. But quieter. Students were beginning to notice. The same thing had happened several times already. Harry Potter and Lyra Malfoy were arguing again. Only this time, it wasn't about schoolwork.
It wasn't about houses. It wasn't about who knew more. Harry glanced at Neville. "Did he do anything to you?" Neville shook his head. "No." "Then leave him alone." Lyra folded her arms. "Why do you care?" Harry answered immediately. "Because you're being unfair." The words struck differently than the teasing they usually exchanged. Lyra's expression changed. Only slightly. But enough. "I'm being unfair?" "Yes." "To him?" "Yes." Lyra looked at Neville again. He was still holding his books. He looked embarrassed. Small. Uncertain. Lyra had seen that sort of behavior before. People who were unsure of themselves. People who needed someone else to tell them what to do. People who would never survive in a family like hers. She turned back to Harry. "You don't know anything about him."
Harry frowned. "Neither do you." "I know enough." "No, you don't." Lyra's voice sharpened. "You're always doing this." "Doing what?" "Defending everyone." Harry looked genuinely puzzled. "Shouldn't someone?" Lyra had no answer. She found one anyway. "You can't go around fixing everyone's problems." "I'm not." "Then what are you doing?" Harry glanced toward Neville. "Helping." Lyra shook her head. "He doesn't need your help." Neville finally spoke. "I— His voice was quiet." Everyone turned toward him. He swallowed. "I don't need it." Harry looked at him. Neville's hands were trembling. But he continued. "I can pick them up myself." Harry nodded. "Okay." He stepped back. Lyra watched Neville crouch down again. This time, nobody laughed. He collected the last of his books. He stood.
His face was still red. But he wasn't looking at the floor anymore. He looked at Lyra. Only for a second. Then he walked away. Lyra watched him go. Something about the moment bothered her. Not because Neville had defeated her. He hadn't. Not because Harry had won. He hadn't. It was simply that Neville had spoken. Quietly. Badly. With a trembling voice. But he had spoken. Harry turned back toward Lyra. "You could have helped him." Lyra's eyes narrowed. "I didn't need to." "No." Harry paused. "But you could have." She looked at him. For several seconds, neither said anything. Until she spoke. "You're very fond of telling people what they should do." Harry gave a small shrug. "You're very fond of telling people what they shouldn't do." Ron looked at Hermione. "I think they're doing it again."
Hermione sighed. "They never stopped." Lyra ignored them. "You think you're better than everyone." Harry's expression changed. "No." "Then why do you act like it?" "I don't." "You're always interfering." "Only when you're being horrible." Lyra stared at him. Ron covered his mouth. Hermione closed her eyes. Harry seemed to realize what he had just said. But he didn't take it back. Lyra's face went still. For a moment, Harry looked as though he might apologize. He didn't. Neither did she. "Fine, "Lyra said." She turned. "Come on." Crabbe and Goyle followed. She walked away without another word. But Harry's voice stayed behind her. "He wasn't bothering you." Lyra kept walking. She didn't answer. The corridor slowly returned to normal. Students began talking again. Ron nudged Harry.
"You know she's going to hate you now." Harry looked toward the corridor where Lyra had disappeared. "She already did." Ron considered that. "Fair point." Hermione shook her head. "You two are impossible." Harry smiled. But farther down the corridor, Lyra wasn't smiling. Not yet. She walked beside Crabbe and Goyle in silence. Her footsteps echoed against the stone. She had been called many things in her short life. Proud. Difficult. Stubborn. A Malfoy. She had never considered herself cruel. And she still didn't. She hadn't meant to hurt Neville. At least, not really. She had simply said what she thought. That was what people did. Wasn't it? The thought should have settled the matter. It didn't. Because Harry had looked at Neville differently. Not as a Gryffindor. Not as someone useful.
Not as someone impressive. Just as a boy who was having a difficult time. And Harry had helped him. There had been no advantage in it. No reward. No reason for Harry to do it. He had simply decided that Neville shouldn't have to stand there alone. Lyra didn't understand that. Not completely. The Malfoy name had taught her that people were measured by what they could offer. By their family. Their reputation. Their strength. Their usefulness. Harry seemed to be measuring people by something else. Something Lyra didn't have a name for yet. She reached the end of the corridor. Crabbe said something. Lyra didn't hear him. Her attention remained somewhere behind her. On a frightened Gryffindor boy. On Harry Potter standing between him and the rest of the corridor.
On the strange certainty in Harry's voice when he had said— Because you're being unfair. Lyra had heard the word before. She simply hadn't expected it to matter. She continued walking. She did not apologize. Not to Neville. Not to Harry. Not even to herself. But from that afternoon onward, whenever Neville Longbottom entered a room, Lyra noticed him. And whenever Harry Potter defended someone who couldn't defend themselves, Lyra noticed that too. She didn't understand it. She didn't agree with it. And she certainly wasn't ready to admit that there might be something admirable about it. But she had seen it. And once Lyra Malfoy noticed something, it was very difficult for her to forget. It had been building for days. The arguments. The remarks. The challenges. The looks across classrooms.
The constant competition over who could answer a question first, who could perform a spell better, who could have the last word. Harry Potter and Lyra Malfoy had become something of a problem. Not a serious problem. Not yet. But a persistent one. If Harry was somewhere, Lyra seemed to eventually appear. If Lyra was somewhere, Harry usually found a reason to say something. Sometimes it was about schoolwork. Sometimes it was about houses. Sometimes it was about absolutely nothing. And sometimes, neither of them could remember how the argument had started. That was how it happened that evening. A remark. Then another. Then one more. Harry had been walking with Ron through a corridor when Lyra passed with Crabbe and Goyle. She looked at him. Harry looked back. Neither spoke.
Then Lyra said something under her breath. Harry stopped. "What did you say?" Lyra turned. "I said you talk too much." Ron groaned. "Oh, not again." Harry stepped toward her. "At least I say something worth hearing." Lyra raised an eyebrow. "Do you?" "Yes." "Prove it." Harry stared at her. There was something about the way she said it. Not teasing. Not entirely. A challenge. He should have walked away. He didn't. "How?" Lyra looked at him for a moment. Then her expression changed. A small smile appeared. "Dueling." Ron's face fell. "Absolutely not." Lyra ignored him. "A proper wizard's duel." Harry frowned. "You mean with wands?" "What else would it be?" Ron stepped between them. "You two are eleven." Lyra looked at him. "So?" "So you don't know how to duel."
Lyra's expression became offended. "I know enough." Harry nodded. "So do I." Ron stared at Harry. "Harry." Harry didn't look at him. "Tonight." Lyra's smile returned. "Midnight." Harry nodded. "Where?" "The trophy room." Ron made a noise somewhere between a groan and a protest. "You're both completely mad." Lyra turned away. "Be there, Potter." Harry watched her leave. Then Ron grabbed his arm. "You're actually going." "Yes." "You know she was probably just trying to scare you." Harry looked back toward the corridor. "She'll be there." "How do you know?" Harry shrugged. "Because I said I would." Ron stared at him. Then sighed. "Fine." Harry looked at him. Ron pointed a finger at his chest. "But I'm coming." "You are?" "Someone has to stop you from getting killed." Harry smiled. "Thanks."
"I didn't say I was going to help." "You're my second." Ron stared at him. "What does that even mean?" Harry shrugged. "I don't know." Ron thought about it. "Fine." Across the castle, Lyra was having almost the same conversation. Crabbe and Goyle had followed her back to the Slytherin common room without asking questions. They had heard enough to know that something interesting was happening. "You're really going?" "Goyle asked." "Of course." Crabbe nodded. "We'll come." Lyra looked at them. "I didn't ask you to." They stared at her. She sighed. "Fine." The word had barely left her mouth when Goyle grinned. Lyra sat down and opened one of her books. She tried to read. She couldn't. Her eyes moved over the same sentence several times. Her thoughts kept returning to the corridor.
Harry's expression. His answer. His certainty. He would come. She knew he would. Because Harry Potter was many things. Stubborn. Reckless. Annoying. But he wasn't a coward. And neither was Lyra Malfoy. At midnight, Hogwarts changed. The castle that seemed enormous during the day became something else entirely after the lights went out. Corridors stretched into darkness. Stone walls seemed taller. Every distant sound carried. Every staircase seemed capable of leading somewhere it hadn't led before. Harry walked carefully beside Ron. Their shoes made quiet sounds against the floor. Ron kept looking over his shoulder. "You're sure this is a good idea?" "No." "Good." Harry smiled. They continued. At another end of the castle, Lyra walked with Crabbe and Goyle. She held her wand tightly.
Her heart was beating faster than she wanted. She told herself it was anticipation. Nothing more. They reached the corridor near the trophy room. Nobody was there. Lyra stopped. She looked around. Nothing. No Harry. No Ron. For one brief moment, doubt appeared. Perhaps Harry had changed his mind. Perhaps he had realized how foolish the whole thing was. Perhaps— A sound came from the corridor. Footsteps. Lyra straightened. Two figures appeared in the darkness. Harry. Ron. Harry stopped when he saw her. Lyra stared at him. For a second, neither spoke. The realization arrived quietly. He had actually come. Harry had been certain she would. Lyra had been certain he would. And somehow, standing there in the dark, the certainty felt different from anything that had happened between them before.
Harry looked at her wand. Then at her. "You came." Lyra raised an eyebrow. "So did you." Harry nodded. "Of course." Ron looked between them. "I can't believe we're doing this." Crabbe and Goyle said nothing. Lyra stepped forward. "Ready?" Harry raised his wand. "Yes." Then— A noise echoed through the corridor. Everyone froze. Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Approaching. Ron whispered. "What was that?" Nobody answered. Another sound. Closer. Lyra lowered her wand slightly. Harry looked toward the end of the corridor. A lantern appeared. Then a face. Filch. Harry's eyes widened. "Run." They turned at once. The corridor erupted into chaos. Shoes struck stone. Ron nearly slipped. Goyle collided with Crabbe. Lyra grabbed Harry's sleeve for half a second as they turned a corner— Then immediately let go.
"Where are we going?" "Ron hissed." "I don't know!" "That would have been useful information! Behind them came Filch's voice." "Who's there?" The lantern swung across the walls. A second shape appeared. Four yellow eyes. Mrs Norris. Ron made a strangled noise. "Oh, brilliant." They ran faster. Harry pulled open the nearest door. They stumbled inside. Lyra followed. Crabbe and Goyle squeezed through. Ron slammed the door shut. Everyone stood perfectly still. For several seconds, nobody breathed. Filch's footsteps passed outside. Then stopped. The handle moved. Everyone froze again. Mrs Norris gave a low, unpleasant sound from the corridor. Harry looked around the room. It was dark. Old trophies gleamed faintly in the moonlight. Lyra recognized it. The trophy room. They had actually made it.
Only not under the circumstances they had planned. Ron whispered: "This is your fault." Harry whispered back: "You agreed." "I was being stupid." "You usually are." Ron stared at him. Lyra almost laughed. She covered her mouth. Harry noticed. "You think this is funny?" "A little." "You were the one who challenged me." "And you came." Harry looked at her. "Yes." There was something different in his voice. Lyra heard it. Not pride. Not triumph. Simply certainty. She looked at him for a moment. Then, very quietly, she said: "I didn't think you'd actually come." Harry frowned. "Why not?" Lyra shrugged. "I don't know." Harry smiled. "You're not the only one who can surprise people." Before Lyra could answer, a noise came from outside. Filch. They all froze. The door opened.
Light flooded the room. "Got you!" The children scattered. Harry grabbed Ron. Lyra pulled Crabbe toward the opposite side. Someone knocked over a trophy. It crashed to the floor. Filch shouted. Mrs Norris hissed. And suddenly everyone was running again. They burst into the corridor. "THIS WAY!" "Harry shouted." "No, THAT WAY!" "Lyra shouted back." They both stopped. Looked at each other. Then ran in the same direction. Ron was laughing despite himself. "Why are we following her?" "I'm not following her!" Lyra shouted over her shoulder. "I'm following you!" "You're behind me!" "Because you're slower!" "I'm not!" They disappeared around the corner. Filch's shouting echoed behind them. For several minutes, Hogwarts became nothing but corridors, staircases, shadows and footsteps.
The duel was forgotten. The trophy room was forgotten. Even the original challenge seemed unimportant. All that mattered was getting back before they were caught. Eventually, Harry and Ron disappeared down one corridor. Lyra, Crabbe and Goyle escaped through another. They did not stop until they were certain the castle had gone quiet again. Lyra leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Crabbe and Goyle were equally exhausted. For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Then Goyle said: "We didn't duel." Lyra looked at him. "No." Crabbe frowned. "So we came here for nothing?" Lyra looked down at her wand. Then toward the corridor where Harry had disappeared. "No." She wasn't sure why. But she knew it wasn't nothing. She had challenged Harry Potter. He had accepted.
He had crossed the castle in the middle of the night because she had told him she would be waiting. They hadn't exchanged a single spell. They hadn't even stood properly opposite one another. And yet, somehow, the rivalry felt different now. More real. More dangerous. More exciting. Lyra pushed herself away from the wall. "Let's go." As she walked back toward the Slytherin common room, she found herself smiling. Not because she had won. She hadn't. Not because Harry had lost. He hadn't. The duel had never happened. But Harry Potter had come. And Lyra had come too. For two eleven-year-olds who had spent weeks trying to prove that they were better than each other, that was almost as important. Neither of them had realized it yet. But something had changed that night.
They had stopped wondering whether the other would rise to the challenge. Now they knew. They would. Every time. The following morning, Hogwarts seemed determined to remind them all that their midnight adventure had been a terrible idea. Harry and Ron had lost points. So had Lyra. None of them were particularly pleased about it. The teachers did not care that the duel had never happened. They cared that first-years had been wandering the castle after midnight. Filch cared even more. By breakfast, the story had already begun spreading. Nobody seemed to know exactly what had happened. Some said Harry had challenged a Slytherin. Others claimed there had been a duel. Someone insisted Filch had caught them in the trophy room. Another student said there had been a fight.
By the time the story reached the Ravenclaw table, it had apparently involved six students, three spells, a suit of armor and a near encounter with a ghost. Harry knew none of that was true. Ron found the rumors hilarious. "They're saying we fought a whole group of Slytherins." "We didn't." "I know." Ron took another bite of toast. "I like that version better." Harry shook his head. Across the Great Hall, Lyra sat at the Slytherin table. She looked perfectly composed. At least from a distance. Her posture was straight. Her robes were neat. Her breakfast was untouched. Crabbe and Goyle were talking beside her. Lyra wasn't listening. She looked across the Hall. Harry was already looking at her. Their eyes met. Neither smiled. Lyra looked away first. Harry did the same. Ron noticed.
He looked between them. "You're doing it again." Harry frowned. "Doing what?" "Looking at Malfoy." "I wasn't." "You were." Harry ignored him. Ron grinned. "You were." At the Slytherin table, Crabbe said something. Lyra answered without looking at him. Her eyes remained on her plate. She wasn't thinking about Harry. She was thinking about losing points. About Filch. About the ridiculous story spreading through the castle. About the fact that Harry had actually come. That was all. At least, that was what she told herself. The rivalry changed after that night. Not immediately. There was no single moment when either of them realized it. It simply became part of their routine. In Charms, Harry raised his hand. Lyra noticed. In Transfiguration, Lyra answered a question before Harry could.
Harry noticed. During Potions, Harry finished an instruction before Lyra did. She noticed. Neither said anything. But both noticed. Sometimes, their eyes met across the classroom. Sometimes one of them would give the smallest expression of annoyance. Sometimes the other would respond. It became a language of its own. One afternoon, Professor Flitwick asked a question. Lyra's hand went up. Harry's went up a second later. Flitwick looked between them. "Yes, Miss Malfoy?" Lyra gave her answer. Flitwick nodded. "Correct." Harry lowered his hand. Lyra looked at him. There was the faintest hint of satisfaction on her face. Harry noticed. The next question came. Harry's hand went up first. Lyra's followed immediately. Flitwick smiled. "Mr Potter?" Harry answered. "Excellent." Lyra stared at him.
Harry looked back. Neither said anything. Ron leaned toward Harry. "You're both ridiculous." Harry whispered: "he started it." Across the room, Lyra heard him. She gave him an unimpressed look. Harry smiled. Only slightly. Lyra looked away. But she was smiling too. It happened outside the classroom as well. Harry would be walking down a corridor and hear a familiar voice. He would look over. Lyra. She would be speaking to Crabbe and Goyle. Sometimes she would notice him first. Sometimes he would. They rarely stopped. They didn't need to. A glance was enough. A raised eyebrow. A small shake of the head. Once, Harry passed her on the stairs. Lyra looked at him. "You're late." Harry stopped. "For what?" "Everything." Harry smiled. "You noticed?" Lyra immediately regretted the question.
"I notice when people are in my way." Harry stepped aside. "Then you should be fine." She walked past him. "Thank you, Potter." "Anytime, Malfoy. Neither looked back. Both did. By the middle of the term, something strange had happened." Lyra had begun to know where Harry was. Not deliberately. Not consciously. She simply noticed. At breakfast, she knew which part of the Gryffindor table he usually sat at. In the Great Hall, her eyes sometimes found him before she had even finished sitting down. In class, she knew when he was absent. If she entered a corridor and heard Ron's voice, she instinctively looked for Harry. If she saw Harry, she sometimes looked for Ron. It was nothing. It had to be nothing. Harry was simply part of Hogwarts now. That was all.
Everyone became familiar after enough time. Professors. Classrooms. Ghosts. The Great Hall. The moving staircases. The lake. The sound of the castle settling at night. Harry Potter was simply another part of it. A particularly irritating part. But a part nonetheless. And Harry had begun doing something similar. He knew when Lyra wasn't in class. He knew the sound of her voice before he saw her. He could recognize her footsteps when she approached. He knew when she was about to disagree with a professor. He knew the look she gave him when she thought he was being stupid. Sometimes he found himself looking toward the Slytherin table during meals. Not because he was looking for Lyra. He simply happened to look there. Usually, she happened to be looking back.
One evening, Harry was leaving the library with Ron and Hermione. They passed the entrance hall. Lyra was standing near the staircase with Crabbe and Goyle. Harry saw her. She saw him. They stopped. For several seconds, neither spoke. Then Lyra looked at the books in Harry's arms. "Studying?" Harry looked at the book in her hand. "Apparently you are too." Lyra glanced at it. "I'm surprised you noticed." "I notice when people are carrying books." She narrowed her eyes. "Very funny." "Thank you." Ron sighed. "You two are impossible." Hermione looked between them. "I think they enjoy this. Both Harry and Lyra turned toward her. "No," they said at the same time." Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Of course." She walked away. Ron followed. Harry remained for another moment. Lyra looked at him.
"You're annoying." "So are you." "Good." "Good." They stared at each other. Then Harry left. Lyra watched him disappear down the corridor. She remained where she was for another second. Then she looked down at her book. She hadn't even realized she was smiling. The rivalry had become comfortable. That was the dangerous part. There was no longer any effort involved. Harry didn't have to decide whether to answer Lyra. Lyra didn't have to decide whether to challenge Harry. They simply did. They were still on opposite sides. Gryffindor. Slytherin. Potter. Malfoy. They still disagreed. They still annoyed each other. They still believed the other was wrong about far too many things. But somewhere along the way, something had changed. Harry had learned that Lyra would always answer.
Lyra had learned that Harry would never back down. And because of that, neither had to wonder anymore. There was comfort in knowing the other would be there. Even if neither would ever admit it. Especially not Lyra. One morning, she entered the Great Hall. She looked toward the Gryffindor table before she had even realized she was doing it. Harry wasn't there. Her eyes moved across the table. No Harry. She frowned. Then she saw him entering through the doors with Ron. Her expression relaxed. Only slightly. Lyra looked away. She sat down. She opened her book. And said nothing. Across the Hall, Harry took his seat. A moment later, he looked toward the Slytherin table. Lyra was already looking at him. Their eyes met. Neither smiled. But neither looked away immediately either.
They had not become friends. They were not allies. They certainly weren't anything more. They were rivals. That was enough. For now. And yet, without either of them realizing it, Harry Potter had already become something Lyra had never expected him to be. Not a legend. Not a name. Not an enemy. Just someone she looked for. And somewhere across the Great Hall, the girl in green had begun to become the same thing to him. The first Quidditch match of the school year arrived with an excitement that seemed to spread through every corridor of Hogwarts. For days, students talked about nothing else. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. The Great Hall was divided. Scarlet and gold on one side. Green and silver on the other. Even the professors seemed to know that the match mattered.
For Harry, it meant something entirely different. He was going to play. Not as a spectator. Not as someone watching older students from the stands. He was Gryffindor's Seeker. A first-year. The youngest Seeker Hogwarts had seen in a century. Harry still wasn't entirely sure how that had happened. But he was going to make the most of it. Across the castle, Lyra prepared for the match with considerably less enthusiasm. She had never been particularly interested in Quidditch. She understood the rules. She knew the importance of the sport. And, more importantly, she understood what a victory over Gryffindor would mean. Slytherin should win. That much was obvious. She wore her green scarf. She sat with the Slytherins. She watched the players enter the pitch. Then she saw him. Harry.
Flying onto the field with the Gryffindor team. Lyra leaned forward slightly. She didn't realize she had done it. Harry looked toward the stands. The crowd was enormous. Hundreds of voices filled the air. Red and gold banners moved in the wind. Green and silver answered from the opposite side. For a moment, Harry's eyes moved across the stands. Then he saw her. Lyra was sitting among the Slytherins. Green around her. Blonde hair catching the sunlight. She was looking directly at him. Harry smiled. Only slightly. Lyra raised an eyebrow. Then she smirked. Harry smirked back. The whistle blew. They turned away from each other. The match began. The game was faster than Lyra had expected. Players crossed the pitch at incredible speed. The Quaffle moved between Chasers.
Bludgers flew through the air. The crowd roared every time someone came close to scoring. But Harry seemed to exist somewhere apart from all of it. He wasn't chasing points. He was searching. His eyes moved constantly. Across the pitch. Above it. Behind the players. He was looking for something small and golden. The Snitch. Lyra watched him. She had never seen Harry like this. There was no argument. No clever remark. No smug expression. No Harry Potter standing across a classroom insisting he was right. There was simply Harry. Flying. And he was good. Very good. Lyra's expression changed. Only slightly. She leaned forward again. A Slytherin player flew past her. The crowd erupted. Lyra barely noticed. Harry had seen something. He accelerated. The Gryffindor stands exploded with cheers.
The Slytherins shouted back. Lyra stood. She wasn't sure why. Harry was flying faster now. A tiny golden flash appeared ahead of him. The Snitch. Harry leaned forward. The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath. He was closing the distance. Faster. Closer. Then his broom suddenly jerked. Harry nearly fell. The crowd screamed. Lyra's heart jumped. She gripped the edge of her seat. Something was wrong. Harry struggled to remain on the broom. The match continued around him, but Lyra barely saw it. She saw only Harry. His hands tightening around the broom. His body leaning desperately forward. His eyes still fixed on the Snitch. Then— He recovered. The broom steadied. Harry accelerated again. Lyra exhaled. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. The Snitch darted downward.
Harry followed. The stadium erupted. Then Harry disappeared from view. A second later, he dropped toward the ground. The crowd gasped. He hit the pitch on all fours. For one terrible moment, nothing happened. Then Harry raised one hand. Something golden gleamed between his fingers. "I've got the Snitch!" The stadium exploded. Gryffindor erupted. Scarlet and gold filled the air. Slytherin groaned. Lyra remained standing. She stared at Harry. He had won. Against Slytherin. The boy who had spent weeks arguing with her had just defeated her house. She should have been angry. She was. A little. But as Harry stood in the middle of the pitch, surrounded by his teammates, laughing while the Gryffindors celebrated around him, Lyra found herself smiling. Just slightly. She quickly stopped.
Nobody seemed to notice. Except perhaps Harry. From across the pitch, his eyes found hers again. Lyra shook her head. Harry smiled. She pointed at him. The gesture was unmistakable. Enjoy it while it lasts. Harry nodded. I will. Then the Gryffindors pulled him away. Lyra sat down. Around her, the Slytherins were complaining. The match was over. The rivalry wasn't. Not even close. That evening, Hogwarts returned to normal. The banners were still hanging. The students were still talking about the match. Gryffindor celebrated. Slytherin complained. And somewhere in the castle, Harry Potter was probably still being congratulated. Lyra walked through the corridors with Crabbe and Goyle. She passed a window overlooking the grounds. The Quidditch pitch was visible in the distance. Empty now.
Quiet. She stopped for a moment. Then continued walking. She had known Harry Potter for only a few months. At the beginning, he had been nothing more than a boy she had met in a robe shop. Then he had become an annoyance. Then a rival. Then someone whose arguments she had begun to expect. Someone whose absence she noticed. Someone whose presence she searched for without meaning to. She still believed Harry was wrong about many things. She still believed the Malfoy name meant something. She still believed Slytherin was the right place for her. And Harry still belonged to Gryffindor. They were still on opposite sides. Nothing about that had changed. But they were no longer strangers. They weren't friends. They weren't allies. They certainly weren't anything else. They were rivals.
And Hogwarts had given them seven years to become very good at it.
TO BE CONTINUED…