You Gotta Love Her (Harry Potter Love Story)

The Firebolt

"That's because you've been having meetings with the Minister," Harry rolled over and stood up to see her.

Her face had a large, bleeding scratch on one side and the left arm of her sweater was ripped. Harry almost rushed to her aid to go and inspect her, to see if she was alright, but he remembered why he didn't.

"What?" Lyra said, putting on a face of confusion, but her eyes gave everything away. "I don't understand."

"You were chatting with the Minister this afternoon, at The Three Broomsticks. How long have you known that Black was my parents' murderer?"

"Harry, I don't-"

"STOP LYING TO ME!" Harry yelled, and Lyra backed up a step. "I want to know how long you've known about him, and how long you've known that I'm his godson."

Lyra hesitated. "I've known since before I even met you. I found a picture of your father and mine at Hogwarts when I was ten, and when I asked about it, Remmy spilled everything. You know how persuasive I can be."

"You've known that long and you never thought to tell me?"

"Harry, I didn't want to hurt you."

"Well, good job! Because that's exactly what you've done!"

"Harry, if you would calm down, I can tell you more," Lyra said.

"I know enough, thanks," Harry seethed. "I'll bet you've been conspiring with Black, too."

"How dare you-"

Harry laughed, although he felt no joy. "Is that where you disappear to when you go to Hogsmeade? Helping your father stay hidden, hoping that one day you will be a happy, loving family again? Now the pieces are all falling into place. That is what you think, isn't it, Lyra? You think that if you could just keep your dad hidden for long enough, the Ministry will just forget about him, and then the two of you can run away and be a family again, right?"

"Of course I haven't, Harry! How can you even accuse me of such a thing?"

"Because it's the truth!"

"Prove it!"

Harry opened his mouth, but no words came out. There was no proof. But the bottle of fury inside Harry's stomach had exploded, and he thought of the only thing he could think to say.

"Get out."

"What?"

"GET OUT!" Harry roared.

Again, Lyra hesitated, and when she was halfway across the threshold, she turned, and, fury sparking in her eyes, she said "Harry Potter, until you pull yourself together, I don't want to speak to you. I don't want to see you. And I most certainly do not want to have you begging for forgiveness by tomorrow, because no matter how long you can live without me, it is going to take time for me to find forgiveness."

She slammed the door.

Harry immediately regretted yelling at her. She and him had gotten into fights before, and she knew how to make him ask for forgiveness first. Harry knew exactly what she was going to do. She would distance herself from Harry for a long time, and after what felt like years of torture, she would finally forgive him and everything would go back to normal.

Harry laid back on his bed.

"Harry?" said Ron's voice uncertainly.

But Harry lay still, pretending to be asleep. He heard Ron leave again, and rolled over on his back, his eyes wide open.

A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison. He could see Black laughing at him through the darkness, as though somebody had pasted the picture from the album over his eyes. He watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces. He could hear (though he had no idea what Black's voice might sound like) a low, excited mutter. 'It has happened, my Lord ... the Potters have made me their Secret Keeper ...' And then came another voice, laughing shrilly, the same laugh that Harry heard inside his head whenever the Dementors drew near ...