You Gotta Love Her (Harry Potter Love Story)

The Dementor

☆⋆⋆⋆☆   song: put your head on my shoulder by paul anka   ☆⋆⋆⋆☆  

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Tom woke Harry the next morning with his usual toothless grin and a cup of tea. Harry got dressed and was just persuading a disgruntled Hedwig to get back into her cage when Ron banged his way into the room, pulling a sweatshirt over his head and looking irritable.

"The sooner we get on the train, the better," he said. "At least I can get away from Percy at Hogwarts. Now he's accusing me of dripping tea on his photo of Penelope Clearwater. You know," Ron grimaced, "his girlfriend. She's hidden her face under the frame because her nose has gone all blotchy...."

"I've got something to tell you," Harry began, but they were interrupted by Fred and George, who had looked in to congratulate Ron on infuriating Percy again.

They headed down to breakfast, where Mr. Weasley was reading the front page of the Daily Prophet with a furrowed brow and Mrs. Weasley was telling Hermione, Ginny, and Lyra about a love potion she'd made as a young girl. Three (Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Hermione), were rather giggly, while Lyra looked as though she was forming another prank in her head.

Lyra seemed a lot better than she had the night before, which made Harry smile. Her shining hair was in a simple ponytail, her grey eyes very bright, and her tan skin glowing. Harry couldn't help but feel proud of himself that he had contributed to her current state.

"What were you saying?" Ron asked Harry as they sat down.

"Later," Harry muttered as Percy stormed in.

Harry had no chance to speak to Ron or Hermione in the chaos of leaving; they were too busy heaving all their trunks down the Leaky Cauldron's narrow staircase and piling them up near the door, with Hedwig, Hermes, (Percy's screech owl), and Lyra's barn owl Ophelia perched on top of their cages. A small wickerwork basket stood beside the heap of trunks, spitting loudly.

"It's all right, Crookshanks," Hermione cooed through the wickerwork. "I'll let you out on the train."

"You won't," snapped Ron. "What about poor Scabbers, eh?"

He pointed to his chest, where a large lump indicated that Scabbers was curled up in his pocket.

Mr. Weasley, who had been outside waiting for the Ministry cars, stuck his head inside.

"They're here," he said. "Harry, Lyra, come on."

Mr. Weasley marched the two of them across the short stretch of pavement toward the first of two old-fashioned dark green cars, each of which was driven by a furtive-looking wizard wearing a suit of emerald velvet.

"In you get," said Mr. Weasley, glancing up and down the crowded street.

Harry and Lyra got in the back of the car, and when the door had shut, Lyra whispered "You're going to tell them, aren't you?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "Do you want me to?"

"They already know that I'm the daughter of....him. The rest of it mostly applies to you, so it isn't my choice." Lyra whispered.

"Look, if you don't want me to-"

"I said, it's your choice, not mine. I'm perfectly fine with whatever you choose. Honestly, I don't even care. Besides, I'm pretty sure the entire school knows by now. They've probably figured it out, or read the Daily Prophet-"

"You were in the Daily Prophet?" asked Harry.

Lyra grimaced. "Yeah. They were mostly raving about the fact that I'm a 'murderer' or I'm 'untrustworthy and dangerous.'"