Chapter Text
The growling in Harry’s stomach finally motivated him to rise from his desk and wander downstairs in search of something to eat. He supposed this was a good thing, after all, his appetite had all but disappeared in the months following the end of school. Watching his friend die right before his eyes, witnessing the return of the wizard who had killed his parents, these things had a tendency to ruin a boy’s appetite.
The briefest flashes went through Harry’s mind as he slowly made his way down the stairs. The flash of green light, Cedric’s body, the indescribable pain he’d felt when Voldemort had touched him. His heart beat faster, his grip on the railing of the stairs tightened until his hands began to cramp. Every step felt like a thousand kilometer drop.
As Harry descended the stairs further, one final image flashed through his mind… Her.
He reached into his pockets, the silver locket she’d covertly gifted him now in his hands. He opened it, the Malfoy family crest adorning the inside as he remembered her last words before they’d entered the train home.
I expect letters over the summer, Potter. Understand?
He’d promised to write to her. He’d meant it. He even wrote three letters, only to burn two of them. In the first, he talked about Cedric far too much. The second, he didn’t talk about Cedric nearly enough. By the time he’d gotten halfway through the third, he’d convinced himself it was pointless to send them anyway.
What was he supposed to tell her? Sorry for not writing, I really like you, but your dad helped kill my friend and I don’t know how to deal with that right now.
Every new attempt at an explanation was more absurd than the last.
After what felt like a century, Harry reached the bottom of the stairs, peeking around to see if the coast was clear. In the den, Dudley was plopped on the couch, jaw agape in front of the television, as he’d been for most of the summer. This was fine, Harry could deal with his cousin. The sense of relief only came when it appeared that neither his aunt or uncle were home.
He rushed for the kitchen, hoping to find something in the pantry that would neither upset his stomach, or catch a lecture from his uncle simply for being eaten. Harry, however, didn’t make it two steps into the kitchen before the doorbell rang.
At first, he ignored it, months of barely eating and barely sleeping were finally starting to catch up with him, his only concern was stuffing his face with whatever his family might not miss. Then it rang again.
“Make yourself useful and get that, would you?” came an annoyed shout from Dudley. “I’m busy!”
Harry groaned, marching for the door. “I can see that, cousin,” he sniped as he passed by. “Hard at work. What would we do without you?” He was ready to answer a few simple yes or no questions from loiterers, perhaps receive any mail that his aunt and uncle may have been expecting. What Harry was not expecting, was a pale skinned girl with silver-blonde hair tied up in a black ribbon waiting on his doorstep, a large suitcase sitting next to her.
She was ever so slightly shorter than him, dressed in a black leather jacket on top of a green summer dress that both looked like they were straight out of a fashion catalogue, a stark contrast to Harry’s gray T-shirt and sweatpants. She didn’t even turn to face Harry as he opened the door fully, just looked over her fingernails as though they were far more interesting than the boy in front of her.
“Hello, Potter,” she said very matter-of-factly.
“Malfoy?!” Harry quickly stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” Lyra Malfoy leaned back slightly, looking at Harry as though he were a germ. “That’s the reaction I get?”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Harry started. “I’m glad to see you, but-”
“Are you?” She crossed her arms, her piercing gray eyes staring a hole directly into whatever was left of Harry’s soul. “Do you remember what I told you when term ended, Potter? I expect letters. And do you know how many I’ve received?” She leaned in closer, poking his chest. “Not. A. One.”
Harry sighed. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
“Oh, good, you can apologize,” Lyra said dismissively. “Now how about you tell me why you couldn’t pick up a quill? You’re clearly not busy, and that owl of yours is smart enough not to get eaten by a stray dragonling.”
“It’s… complicated.”
“Oh, it’s complicated, I see,” she puckered her lips at him, nodding dramatically. “Surely someone as dim-witted as I couldn’t handle a bit of complexity, right?”
“Malfoy, that’s not what I meant,” Harry said, his voice lowering.
“You know, you really are an arse, Potter,” Lyra continued. “I mean, I come all the way to Surrey of all places just to surprise you, and it’s like you couldn’t care less.”
“Wait, what?” Harry asked. “What do you mean, surprise me?”
“Seriously?” She looked at him, growing more unimpressed by the moment. “What’s today’s date, Potter?”
“The thirtieth of July?”
“And when is your birthday?”
“...Tomorrow,” the weight of realization hit Harry harder than any Hungarian Horntail, and now he truly did feel like a complete arse. “You really came all the way here just to see me for my birthday?”
“Yes!” Lyra exclaimed, as annoyed as ever. “I swear, Potter, does anything actually happen between those eyes of yours?”
More flashes went through Harry’s mind, but this time not of death, not of Cedric, not of Voldemort. This time of the Yule Ball, of asking Malfoy out of sheer desperation, not expecting her to accept. Of being rendered breathless when she walked down the stairs in her dress. Of stepping on each other’s feet more times than they could possibly count during the opening dance.
Of growing tired of being gawked at by the entire school, and sneaking out of the Great Hall at the first opportunity. Of cordially shaking hands in the snow, thanking each other for not making it any more awkward than it had to be. Of Malfoy pulling him back as he turned away, planting a kiss on his cheek. Of her last words to him that night,
You know, Potter, you’re really not all that dreadful.
Harry reached forward, stopping Malfoy’s rant mid-sentence, and pulled her close, hugging tightly, his face sinking into the crook of her neck as he breathed in deeply and slowly. Lyra was frozen for a moment, but eventually surrendered, wrapping her arms gently around Harry’s neck.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her again, finally smiling like he hadn’t in months, and gave a kiss to her forehead.
“I’ve missed you,” said Harry.
For the briefest of moments, Malfoy’s expression was foreign. Shocked, taken off guard, vulnerable even as the slightest shades of pink began to grace her cheeks. She quickly regained her composure, a cocky smirk forming across her face.
“That’s more like it,” she said quietly, moving in for a kiss of her own, this time firmly, but gently on Harry’s lips. “I missed you, too.”
“How did you even find me?” Harry asked. “And how did you get here?”
“You did mention you spent summers with your relatives in Surrey,” Lyra said flatly. “It wasn’t that hard. As for how I got here, there are these wonderful things called trains. Not just wizards use them, you know.”
“Right,” he laughed. “And your… father… is okay with this?”
“He’s been…” Lyra went quieter. “Very busy with work this summer. Hasn’t been around much.”
Something about her answer put a feeling of dread in the pit of Harry’s stomach. Did she know about her father? About his allegiance to Voldemort, about how he’d been there the night Cedric had been murdered?
“I may have had to beg and grovel to mother,” Malfoy continued. “But she never could say no to me.”
“Wait,” Harry laughed again. “Did you say-”
“Enough,” she said. “Not another word.”
“Sorry, I just have a hard time picturing you groveling to anyone.”
“And it’s going to stay that way, understood, Potter?” She asked, not a question.
“Understood.”
“Good,” Lyra finally took her hands from Harry’s shoulders, now placing them firmly on her hips. “Because you still haven’t told me why you didn’t write.”
Harry was saved from explaining himself in the worst way conceivable. The unmistakable growl of a Vauxhall Vectra pulling into the driveway of Number Four, Privet Drive drew Lyra’s attention completely away from him, and only served to deepen the feeling of dread that was permeating throughout his nervous system.
“Who’s that?” Malfoy asked as the car shut off.
“That…” Harry rested his face in his hand. “Will be my uncle Vernon. And I… will have to explain who you are and why you’re here.”
She looked back at him, a devilish smirk adorning her face. “You just leave that to me.”
As Vernon waddled his overweight self away from the car, his mustache only just barely concealing the scowl that adorned his face, Harry watched Lyra adorn the most sickeningly sweet smile he’d ever seen on a girl, a feat both impressive and scary.
“Can I help you, young lady?” Vernon asked.
She immediately extended her hand. “Lyra Malfoy, sir. It’s a privilege to make your acquaintance.” The fat man nervously accepted the gesture, while looking back at Harry, seemingly hoping for any sort of explanation.
“Uncle Vernon, this is… my…” he stammered, unsure if he could actually bring himself to say the word. “...Girlfriend.” It felt strange to say, they had never actually talked about what they were to each other, but Lyra looking back at him, more pleased than he had ever seen her, helped to alleviate some of that anxiety.
“Your… girlfriend?” Vernon asked as though he was being introduced to a serial killer.
“My girlfriend,” Harry nodded awkwardly. “From… school?”
“I see,” he said, quickly taking his own hand away from Lyra’s. “Could you excuse us for just a moment?” He turned back to Harry, the familiar look of rage and indignation on his face that Harry was all too familiar with. Vernon motioned to the house, reluctantly followed by his nephew.
“Who in the blazes is this girl?!” Vernon yelled as soon as the door had closed behind them.
“I told you, she’s my girlfriend,” Harry shrugged.
“Bollocks,” he heard Dudley say from the den. “No girl would want Potty Pants.”
“Love you too, cousin!” Harry shouted back, never taking his eyes away from his uncle’s gaze.
“You invite this… person,” Vernon said with as much venom as he could manage, “One of your little freak friends into my home? Are you out of your mind, boy?!”
“I didn’t invite her,” Harry protested. “I didn’t even know she was coming until she showed up a few minutes ago.”
The door opened, and Malfoy slowly stepped inside, with a feigned nervousness that almost had Harry fooled. “I apologize, but… may I come inside?” She asked gently. “It’s quite hot out here.” When Vernon didn’t answer, only looking at her as though she were the source of all that was wrong with the world, she seemingly took that as a yes, while Harry wanted only to melt into the floor.
“You…” Vernon was clearly trying and failing to hide his anger. “You showed up completely unannounced.”
“And I’m sorry for that, sir,” Malfoy said. “I did try to write, but someone…” she looked directly at Harry, whose heart skipped a beat. “...hasn’t been answering my letters.”
“I’ve been… busy,” Harry said sheepishly.
“You’re a terrible liar, Potter,” she shot back at him.
“That’s enough!” Vernon exclaimed, his arms involuntarily jerking as though he were resisting the urge to punch a hole in the wall. “I’m sorry, Miss… Malfoy, but I believe it’s time for you to go.”
“Go?” Lyra asked, her carefully feigned charm fading slightly. “I’ve only just arrived.”
“I don’t need any more… strangeness in this house,” Vernon spat. “It’s bad enough with just him here,” he motioned to Harry. “If he’s going to start dragging in more of your kind-”
“My kind?” There it was. The cold and calculating venom that Malfoy had always been known for. Harry wanted to stop her, but his body simply refused to move. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words escaped his mouth.
“You know what I mean,” Vernon said.
“No, I’m rather afraid I don’t,” She crossed her arms. “What precisely do you mean by my kind, sir?”
“He means magic folk,” Harry finally said, low and defeated, already preparing mentally to be thrown out of the house for the fifth time in five years
“Do not say that word!” Vernon yelled.
“You mean magic? Is that the issue here, sir?” Malfoy began to push back, making sure to make the last word of her sentence bite.
“Yes! Now leave my home before I call the police!”
There was a brief silence, with Lyra and Vernon staring right through each other, Harry preparing for one of them to try and murder the other, even Dudley had turned his gaze away from the television.
“Sir,” Malfoy began again. “I have traveled halfway across the country just to surprise my boyfriend. Are you really the type of people to turn a fifteen year old girl away into the street?”
“You come into my home-”
“Because I can’t force you to let me stay,” she cut Vernon off. “But if you insist on denying me basic courtesy, my parents will be forced to come and collect me. And they will not be happy.”
“And why exactly should I care about the mood of you people?”
“Because my parents,” she snarled. “Are of age, and thus allowed to use magic in their daily life.” She stepped slightly closer. “And I assure you, they can be very creative when it comes to getting even with those who’ve inconvenienced them.”
Harry was dumbfounded. He had never seen anyone speak to his uncle in such a way. Seeing Malfoy’s precise, cutting silver tongue directed towards someone who actually deserved it for a change, Uncle Vernon’s pitiful anger mixed with the very real fear that the Malfoys would come and curse his house, all of this couldn’t help but bring a smile to his face as he looked at her.
“...How long do you intend to stay?” Vernon asked after a beat.
“Two weeks,” Lyra said. “After which, Harry and I will do our school shopping together, and I will return home.”
Harry’s face grew hot. She’d called him by his first name. Not Potter, said with judgement and indignation, but Harry, as though he really were someone dear to her. He decided in that moment he would very much like to kiss her again.
“...Very well,” Vernon growled. “But there will be no… strangeness in my house. From either of you.”
“Sir,” she placed a hand on her chest dramatically. “I would never dream of insulting your hospitality in such a way.”
Vernon stormed away, muttering something about needing to tend to the garden. The moment he was out of eyesight, Harry’s hands wrapped around the small of Lyra’s back, causing a barely noticeable gasp from her, and he pulled her in, smiling like an idiot.
“That was brilliant,” He whispered, moving in for another kiss, but being stopped by Malfoy’s finger against his lips.
“I’m pleased you think so,” she said. “But you’re still not off the hook, Potter. I’ll ask again, why haven’t you written?”
“Can’t I just enjoy your presence for a bit, Malfoy?” Harry asked, still grinning from ear to ear.
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, I suppose. But we are going to talk.”
“And I’ll be dreading it until then,” Harry leaned in again, and this time Lyra did not resist. When the two broke away, Harry spied Dudley from the corner of his eye making a beeline for the door, shooting the both of them a glance, a mix of disgust and outright horror.
“Dad’s right,” Dudley spat. “Girls really have no standards these days.” He slammed the door behind him before Lyra could eviscerate him with her words,
She gasped. “What an oaf! Him and your uncle!”
“Oh, who cares what they think,” Harry said before she broke away from him, before leaning down to unlatch her suitcase.
“Oh, by the way,” Lyra said, retrieving a small parcel packaged in an exquisite silver wrapping. “Happy birthday.”
“My birthday’s not until tomorrow, Malfoy,” Harry said as he cautiously accepted.
“I’m aware,” she shot back. “But you know me, patience isn’t my strong suit.”
“No, it definitely isn’t,” he laughed as he began to unwrap the gift. As the paper tore away, he was greeted with a photo. Himself and Lyra Malfoy, dressed in their Yule Ball attire in front of a large Christmas tree. In the picture, he was standing behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, and she reached back to caress his neck. He saw himself say something in her ear, only for her to scowl and roll her eyes.
“Our first date,” Harry smiled. “I love it.”
“It was a school function that we were both required to attend,” said Malfoy. “I’d hardly call that a date.” At last, she smiled back at him, not a smirk as though she knew she had him wrapped around her finger, or a fake courtesy to get his relatives off her back, but a genuine smile, as though she were right where she wanted to be.
“Still,” she said, quieter. “It wasn’t an altogether horrible evening.”
“I agree,” Harry said. “Maybe the next one will actually be a bit pleasant.”
“Funny you should say that,” she latched her suitcase back up, grabbing the handle. “Because you’re about to show me to your room so I can unpack. After which, you’re going to put on some actual clothes,” she gestured vaguely to his attire. “...And take me on a proper date.”
“Am I now?”
“Of course,” she said. “Surely Surrey isn’t so devoid of civilization that we don’t have options besides lazing about the house all day.”
Harry chuckled. “I can think of a few places you might like.”
She smirked. “Good boy.”