Word Count: 2,517.
Warnings: None.
I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I was stripped down to my undergarments, leaving the darkened bruise on my arm in plain view.
"You have one hell of a grip Flint," I muttered, running my fingers across the skin before moving my hand to my eye.
Somehow, although the bruise on my arm seemed to look a lot worse, my eye was the only one that pained me. I hissed at any contact with it.
Pansy had told me several times the night before that I should have it healed by Madame Pomfrey, but I had insisted that there was no pain and therefore no point. I had lied.
"Fuck," I breathed, running a hand down the front of my neck. "If only I was good at healing charms."
I was reminded of my hands, and turning my palms over, I brushed my fingertips over the missing scars. They had vanished. It was impossible for them to heal. Not that fast. It must have had something to do with almost losing control. When it cracked.
Talking a deep breath, I closed my eyes. I was curious. Having never purposely broken the glass inside my head, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. What was in it? What was I trying to keep in?
I had always kept a firm hold on it, constantly pushing the lid further into the glass, almost forcing it to shatter from the bottom. What would happen if I let go willingly?
Relaxing fully, I let the vice grip I had on my mind soften. As my hold loosened, so did the lid. I imagined it like the flame in the fire. Growing and twisting out of its prison until it reached a peak.
A calming sensation pushed through my body, and I opened my eyes, gasping. I watched myself in the mirror with fear and interest.
My eyes had turned a golden colour and the air around me had darkened, black smoke surrounding my body in tendrils. They circled my arms and neck, pressing into my skin.
Shaking my head, I shut my eyes quickly, diminishing the flame. I pushed my body forward to grip my hands on the sink.
Shoving the fire back into its cage, I tightened the lid, letting it fester inside the glass, hitting against its clear prison, trying to escape. I didn't let it.
Panting, I looked back up to the mirror, watching my now sweating figure. The golden eyes and black smoke had vanished, and the room was brighter than ever before. Whatever that was had left, but so had the bruises along with it. It hadn't taken just that. Every scar that had ever touched my skin had disappeared. There was no longer a long white scar across my shoulder or the scar across my stomach. Even the little ones, the scrapes and bumps, had vanished. The only wound that remained was the long, irritated scar across my face. My skin looked untouched for the first time I could remember.
ᵜᵜᵜᵜᵜ
"Some dark wizards may have a black tendril apparition. This is due to their avid use of dark magic. If they have lost control over –"
A chair was pulled out across from my seat, causing me to slam the book I had been reading closed. The title caught my eye as it had when I picked it up. 'The Unusual Abilities of Dark Wizards." I quickly covered it with my arms.
Across from me sat a most peculiar woman. She was blonde, pale-skinned and wore a red lipstick that stood out on her face. The only way I could describe the outfit she wore was that it belonged in the 1950s rather than the time we were in. Hovering beside her was a floating quill and notepad. I questioned whether she might have been a ghost.
"Rita Skeeter, nice to meet you darling." She held her hand out for me to shake.
I complied, giving it a gentle shake. "You're a journalist for the Daily Prophet."
"So, you've heard of me then?" She smiled.
I nodded. "Yes."
I had heard of Rita Skeeter. Moony liked to complain that she was a vicious snake who turned your words against you. She was a writer who had 'words worse than Hitler.' Moony was fond of comparing her words to muggles, but I don't think he fully understood how terrible Hitler was. I questioned whether his comparison was accurate.
"What are you... doing in the library?" I asked her with a smile. I would need to watch what I said to this woman.
"Well, as you might have heard, I am interviewing all of the champions –"
"I'm not a champion."
"Oh, but you are far more interesting than all of them combined."
"Thank you." It came out as more of a question.
"You are very welcome dear. Now." She sat back in her chair, taking a pair of glasses off her head and placing them on the bridge of her nose.
"When were you born?" she asked.
"I'm sorry?"
"What is your date of birth?"
"May 17th 1980. I –"
"And what is your full name?"
"Lyra Marlene Black. Sorry, what are these –"
"And where is your current residence?"
I hesitated. "I'm sorry Ms. Skeeter, but what it this... interview for, may I ask?"
"Oh, but excuse me, my dear for not telling you. I am writing an article. About you."
"Me?" My eyes widened.
"Yes. Everyone knows the story of you father's betrayal and disloyalty to humanity, but no one knows of you part in it." She jumped in her seat, turning to the enchanted pill and notepad. "Write that down, that's good. The part about disloyalty and humanity."
The quill almost nodded before scratching away on the paper, writing down the journalists words.
"I'm... flattered Ms. Skeeter, but my story is a rather boring one. Perhaps Harry Potter would have something more interesting for you."
She scoffed. "His story is overtold. I want something different. Something that hasn't been heard before."
"Okay then." I scanned my surroundings, seeing if I could find an exit that didn't involve angering the woman in front of me. I didn't.
"So, tell me. How did you grow up?"
I pulled the book I had been reading forward and straightening it, I held the leather mass against my chest. "I grew up with my uncle."
"But your father's only brother died shortly after you were born, did he not?"
"Regulus Black, yes. He was my biological uncle. I grew up with my godfather. Remus Lupin."
"He was a friend of your father's, yes?"
My eyes moved to the quill which was writing aggressively. "They went to school together."
"And your father simply left you with him?"
My head shot to the journalist. "He was my godfather. If he trusted him enough to give him that title, he must have believed that he would take care of me."
"And what of your godmother?" Rita moved the topic.
"Marlene McKinnon." I told her. "She was killed in the First Wizarding War."
Rita sighed. "That must have been heart-breaking for you."
"I was a baby. I don't... remember any of it."
"And this godfather of yours. Are the rumours true?"
"What rumours?" My heart clenched.
"That he's a you-know-what."
"I'm afraid I don't understand what you're asking." My eyes shot back to the notepad.
"A werewolf."
I froze, turning my head back to the blond woman. "I thought this interview was about me." I tried to deflect the question.
The quill stopped writing and Rita, almost giving the quill a pointed look, which it oddly returned, sighed. "Yes, it is, but your uncle is an important part to your upbringing, is he not?"
I nodded. If this woman had the option, she would pull every piece of information out of me and still twist my words whichever way she wanted. "Yeah. I think we're done here."
Rising from my chair, I quickly picked up my things and head for the exit. Rita followed, her notepad in tow fervently writing down her words.
"But, I have a lot more questions."
"Find someone who wants to answer them."
"This is quite... rude of you. Walking out of an interview."
I turned to face the journalist, bringing the woman to a sudden halt. "Then be sure to note that in your pages full of bullshit." She looked appalled.
Giving her my best smile, I quickly turned from the woman, pushing through the halls of Hogwarts. "Vicious snake."
ᵜᵜᵜᵜᵜ
The halls of the school weren't as crowded as they usually were and I found it easy to make my way through the school. The book I had been reading before Rita Skeeter interrupted was still held tightly to my chest, the title hidden from view.
"Lyra!" a voice called.
I sighed. "Fuck."
"Hey, Lyra." Nika came up on my left, walking to match my pace. "Can I talk to you?"
I took a deep breath, calming my nerves. "Sure."
"Ok, so there's this girl," she started, "and I really like her. I mean, I've never had a crush on someone and this girl is just something else all together Black."
"And the problem is?" I asked her, moving around a group of Third Years.
"Well, I don't know how to tell her."
"There's a thing called words."
"What if she doesn't feel the same? What if the kiss was just a kiss? The conversations were just that. A conversation."
Stopping up both, I placed my hands firmly on her shoulder. "She likes you. Go talk to her. I think she's in the Great Hall."
Nika looked at me with slight shock, shaking her head. Ignoring her expression, I turned away, continuing through the halls and coming out by the courtyard.
"Black!"
"What now?" I asked myself, smiling as I turned to my right. Potter was running towards me. "What's up?"
"I'm sorry for what happened yesterday," he apologized.
"Apology accepted," I told him, turning away and beginning to walk again.
"Lyra!" This time is was Draco.
"Apology accepted!" I shouted back at him.
He nodded, swivelling on his feet as he turned away and walked the opposite way.
Sighing, I quickened my pace. I needed to get back to my room. Quickly. If anyone saw me with this book, the assumptions would run around the school.
"Ms. Black?" I was stopped again.
Sighing in frustration, I turned around to face the voice. "Mr. Crouch. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"You are a troublesome one Ms. Black."
"Yes, I know that. Is there anything else?"
Crouch's face tensed. "It was entirely unmannerly of you to burst into the staffroom. That was a private conversation –"
"Don't piss you off. Got it." Turning away, I continued away from him.
"Ms. Black!"
I let out a huff of frustration, my hands tightening around my book. Turning to face the Enforcer, I hurried towards him.
"Why do you have such an interest in my life?" I asked him. "There are plenty of troublesome students in this school, majority worse than I and yet you insist on penalizing me."
"Ms. Black?"
"Is it because of who my father is? Or is it because I have an untrusting face? I've been told I look naïve but never untrustworthy." I took a deep breath. "Or maybe it's because you're bitter."
"Now why would I be bitter, Ms. Black?" I could feel that his anger was growing too.
"Maybe because I am supposed to be your granddaughter after all."
His eyes widened, looking around him as he avoided my gaze. "What –"
"My mother was supposed to marry your son. I know. But then my father took her." I paused. "Or maybe she ran away from your deranged family."
His head shot to me. "You know nothing of my family."
"I know that your son was a follower of Voldemort. I know that he was psychotic. Insane. That's why you locked him up in Azkaban!" I was breathing heavy. Shaking my head, I finished. "Thank Merlin he escaped."
Crouch's eyes turned on me. "What?" he asked, straightening.
"Oh, didn't I tell you? I saw him. At the Quidditch World Cup." I revealed. "He's the one who cast the Dark Mark."
The Enforcer shook his head. "My son died years ago."
"Keep telling yourself that." I told him, turning from the man and quickly trying to walk away.
He pulled at my arm, turning me to face him. He pulled me close to him face. "You're a liar."
"Possibly." My voice shook slightly at the grit in his voice. "But do you think I'm lying to you? Or are you lying to yourself?"
His grip grew tighter on my arm as his face contorted. "You're a liar," he muttered, hand loosening as he did.
I pulled my arm away from him, leaving the confused man in the corridor. I pushed through the doors, re-entering the castle.
"Lyra," someone spoke, grabbing my arm to turn me around.
I ripped it from their grip. "Would you just fuck off?!" I shouted.
Kenneth held his hands in in defence as he jumped back from me. "I was just going to –"
"Apologize? Right, apology accepted. Do you want to rant about some person you're in love with and can't talk to? Just talk to them. Or do you maybe want to penalize me for being a bitch? Because I couldn't give a fuck!" I burst, panting.
"I was going to ask if you were okay," he told me, his expression shocked at my outburst.
I laughed lightly, letting out a breath. my eyes watered as I looked up to him. "I'm just peachy."
He held a hand up to his head in pain, massaging it softly. "I, uh, really wish I could comfort you, but I, have to go." He rushed off, leaving me in the middle of the corridor.
"Huh," I muttered, running a hand over my face.
"Black." My name was uttered again.
"I told you to fuck off." A tear fell down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away.
"What if I said no?" Mattheo approached me.
"Yeah, what if? Look, if you're not here to apologize or ask for advice, get mad at me or run off, well then I can't help you. And don't ask me if I'm okay."
Riddle shook his head, pulling me into a hug. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, bringing his hands to rest on my upper back.
I didn't release the firm grip I had on the book against my chest and simply lay my head against his shoulder. I closed my eyes, letting him comfort me for a moment.
"I'm here if you want to talk." Those were the wrong words.
I shrugged myself out of his hold, pulling back. "Fuck off."
"What –"
"Just, fuck off, okay? Do what I actually say for once."
Turning away from the Slytherin, I started further down the hall, heading for the dungeons. There were no more interruptions.