The Hogwarts Express roared to life with a piercing whistle. Heather waved goodbye, chuckling when she saw Sirius jumping and waving his arms wildly. He'd been practically despondent when she and Rian left to board the train. She understood, of course. The summer was too short a reunion for his twelve-year separation. He'd made the most of it, taking them on frequent trips or inviting himself over to the Burrow while they were there.
Often, Professor Lupin had accompanied him and they would tell them numerous tales about their parents. The Professor (or Remus, as he'd asked to be called) had resigned at the end of the year due to the immense fatigue of having to cope with both his furry problem and the demanding job. It had been Sirius who persuaded him to do so. The main draw of the job had been the free Wolfsbane Professor Snape provided. Since Heather could actually brew the highly complex potion, it wasn't a necessity anymore. She agreed to brew it for Remus, provided Sirius bought the ingredients since they were restricted. Admittedly, she also agreed because she was aware of the heavy workload her Head of House had. This would free him of the additional duty.
Unfortunately, this left the DADA post open again. The first competent teacher they had had left. She just hoped Remus had set the bar for the future. If anything, the events of the Quidditch World Cup proved that they would need all the training they could get in defending themselves. She had the feeling that that wouldn't be the end of things. Voldemort was somehow emerging again. The time of relative peace was coming to an end.
Then there were all the cryptic comments the adults made about something happening in school this year. All she knew was that an exciting event would be held and that the Ministry was involved.
Someway, somehow, she knew that Hadrian would get himself tangled up in it, willingly or not. Such was his luck. They just couldn't catch a break, could they?
~~~
Heather glanced at the staff table as she ate her meal. She couldn't spy any new faces. Had the Headmaster not managed to find a new DADA teacher? She nodded as she caught Professor Snape's gaze, smiling when he subtly returned the gesture. An odd flutter of warmth had her turning away quickly. Shaking the feeling off, she turned towards the Gryffindor table. As usual, Fred and George were whispering deviously amongst themselves. She'd have to make sure they didn't go overboard with whatever mischief they were planning. Her gaze drifted to Hadrian, nodding in satisfaction when she saw that he was eating properly. The less she said about Ron's dining etiquette, the better. Hermione, as usual, was taking the occasional bite of food while she read a thick tome.
Heather knew that Hermione had the tendency to neglect herself in the pursuit of academics. She was absolutely brilliant, but she'd coped poorly with her twelve subjects last year. Apparently, she'd been employing a time turner to attend all her classes! Imagine that! Professor McGonagall must have pretty good connections to pull that off. Fortunately, Heather had managed to persuade her to tone down a little. She had eventually dropped Muggle Studies and Divination.
Heather switched her attention to Professor Dumbledore when he stood to speak. He spouted the usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest and Mr Filch's list of restricted items. She was amused when he mentioned a few objects that she and FredGeorge had created. Then, he dropped a shocking piece of news. No Quidditch? She could hear Ron's loud complaints from here.
Suddenly, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open. Gripping her wand, she turned, spells at the tip of her tongue. A bizarre-looking man stood at the doors. Dressed in tattered black robes, he skulked towards the staff table. As he moved closer, Heather saw that one of his eyes was replaced by a metal one. It rotated warily about the room, independent of the other one. It made for a creepy effect. The Headmaster stood and welcomed the man warmly, offering him a drink which he refused. Instead, the man withdrew a canteen and drank deeply from it.
It struck her that this man was Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, retired Auror. He was renowned for having the highest arrest rate of criminals. Despite (or because of) his extreme paranoia, he had been one of the best on the force.
Two capable DADA teachers in a row. Must be a record.
"As I was saying," Headmaster Dumbledore continued, "I am pleased to announce that the Triwizard Tournament will be held in Hogwarts this year!"
"You're kidding!" George shouted. Heather rolled her eyes as her friend flushed in embarrassment before settling down.
"No, Mr Weasley, I am assuredly not kidding," the Headmaster said kindly. He then proceeded to give a brief history of the tournament. As Heather listened on, her thoughts turned darker and darker. Death toll? Dangerous trials? What kind of school approved of an event like this?
'The same that hides the Philosopher's Stone and a basilisk within its bowels,' she thought sardonically.
"However, all the heads of the participating schools and the Ministry of Magic have decided that only those seventeen and above may be allowed to enter the competition. I will personally see to it that no underaged participants enter it."
Heather heaved a sigh of relief, a stark contrast to the belligerent expressions on her best friends' faces. She didn't see the appeal of willingly putting their lives on the line for a bit of recognition. The age restriction was the only intelligent thing about the whole tournament. Knowing the twins, they'd try their luck with it anyway.
If other people wanted to risk their lives for this crazy venture, let them. At least the excitement would be off her and Hadrian for once.
She shouldn't have spoken so soon.
~~~
After a busy morning being asked to help with some last-minute holiday work, Heather was finally free of her little snakes to eat a quick breakfast. She had no time to catch up with her brother and friends before rushing off to her first class, Arithmancy. She would nag her younger housemates for putting their work off later. Only Astoria - the sweet thing - had managed to finish all her homework. To be fair to the others, the pre-reading and essay that Professor Moody had assigned was rather challenging. Instead of putting her off, though, it only served to raise her expectations of his lessons.
She watched the clock throughout the day, anticipating the DADA lesson she had at the end of the day. The moment the bell rang, she dashed out of Herbology, Fred and George in tow.
"Err, Heather, we're-" George said.
"-supposed to run away from-" Fred continued.
"-the mad old Auror," they said together.
"Only criminals run from the law enforcement," she retorted, finally stopping outside the classroom.
"Well put, Potter!" the gravelly voice of Professor Moody said. He emerged from the room, opening the door wider for them to enter. Still a little surprised at his sudden appearance, she took a while to gather herself before dragging her friends in.
"Good afternoon Professor Moody." It never hurt to be polite. She nudged Fred sharply, prompting to give their own greetings.
"A little early, aren't you?" the man commented gruffly.
"Well-"
"None of that!" he cut in. "You should never be early or late. Only exactly on time! Too easy for enemies to intercept you otherwise! Remember, CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
She jumped slightly at the loud exclamation. "R-right, Professor. We'll be on time in the future."
The man nodded briskly and walked back to his desk.
"Methinks his eye's not the only thing that's mad," George whispered. His twin nodded and twirled his finger near his temple in the universal sign of insanity.
"Shh, he'll hear you!" She gave them warning looks and pulled them to seats in the middle of the classroom. "You two had better take your classes seriously. The NEWT syllabus is much tougher than the OWLs."
They sighed in tandem, giving each other commiserating looks.
"How have we not corrupted her already?"
"It's the Potter stubbornness. Plus the Slytherin pig-headedness."
"Hush, you two. He's starting!" While they'd been bantering, the class had gradually filled with the other students who had managed to get into the NEWT level class.
A hand slammed on their table, startling them. Their voices broke off and they looked up into the fearsome look Professor Moody's eyes (err, eye and mechanical-robot-thing). "Now that I have everyone's attention," the wizard growled, "let's begin."
"This year's syllabus will include mainly nonverbal casting. It is an important skill, especially if you want to be an Auror or get a mastery in Defence. Proficient casters don't just broadcast all their spells; that would just disadvantage them. You there!" he turned to a suddenly nervous Gryff. "Explain why!"
Hesitantly, Lee Jordan said, "B-because it gives your opponent the chance to think of a counter spell."
"Good, 2 points to Gryffindor." The man smirked in approval. "We will also be covering a few new hexes and curses. You will have the chance to test these out during practice duels. I will teach you about some Dark creatures like inferi and dementors. First of all, however," a wild gleam entered his eye(s), "we will be learning the Unforgivables." He spun quickly and shot a rapid spell at a mouse on his desk.
Heather paled dramatically. She froze in place, staring at the white mouse on the desk. Fighting her nausea, trying to remain upright. Green light, a body falls to the floor.
"Potter! Tell me what spell that was," Professor Moody demanded. He looked expectantly at her, unaware of his casual cruelty. Or was he?
Not turning away from the dead rodent, she managed to work her vocal chords. "The Killing Curse." She winced inwardly at the blankness in her voice. In her peripheral vision, she saw her friends turn to her in worry at the odd tone.
The rest of the lesson passed in a blur. Her eyes never strayed from the furry body. If asked about what happened during the class, Heather wouldn't have been able to answer. Not even about what she herself was thinking. All she knew was a dull void.
"-ather. Heather!" A sharp shake of her shoulders jolted her out of her headspace. She looked blurrily at Fred and George. "Come on, lesson's over. Let's go for dinner."
"Right," she heard herself say faintly. Mechanically, she packed her things up. An arm went around her waist, supporting her weight. Oh, she'd been hunched forward dangerously. That's why the table had seemed closer than usual. "Thanks, George."
Fred looked worriedly at his friend. Heather had just called him George. Not even in total darkness had she ever mixed them up. They still didn't know how she did that, but the point was, she never mistook them. Something was up. Obviously, the lesson on the Killing Curse was the cause. She'd been so excited for DADA, and now...
"Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey, okay Heather?" Not pausing to wait for the answer that wouldn't come, he led her in the direction of the infirmary, letting George carry her bag.
George bit his lip, watching his brother practically support all of Heather's weight. The scary thing was, she was still conscious. Her eyes were open, if rather dilated. But they were lifeless, vacant. Maybe it would be better if Fred just carried her.
As soon as he thought it, his brother nodded in agreement and did just so. He did it with ease; she was as light as a feather. They picked up their pace. Heather hadn't responded at all even at the change in position. Normally, she would have objected fiercely to being treated like she was delicate. The thing was, she looked really delicate right now.
Near the infirmary, they turned the corner and narrowly missed a collision with someone. Catching sight of the dark robes, they sighed. Of all the rotten luck, who was it they had to meet? They looked up, already knowing whose cheery visage they would see.
"What are you two doing?" a sneering voice demanded.
Yay, Snape.
"Professor, we were just going to the infirmary," George said, walking forwards. Hopefully, Fred would be able to sidestep Snape without him noticing.
And then Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts would fly.
"What did you do to Miss Potter?!" he hissed, looking ready to take points, hex and murder. Maybe not in that order, either.
"Look, Professor, can we just get Heather to the infirmary first?" Fred said, frustrated.
"We'll answer your questions then. And only then," George stated firmly.
Glaring, the man stepped aside to let them pass so he could stalk them from behind.
'Paranoid bastard,' Fred and his brother thought together. They looked at each other, managing to stifle their amused snorts.
Looking down to the girl in his arms, Fred sobered. They walked faster, hurrying through the door to the hospital wing.
After passing Heather into Madam Pomfrey's capable hands, they turned back to the livid Potions Professor. They were so not looking forward to this confronta- conversation at all.
"What. Happened," the man forced out quietly. See that was the thing with the old bat. When he shouted and raged, you feared for your life. Unlike when he got quiet. Oh no, when that happened, you didn't fear for your life. That was when dying was a blessed mercy compared to what he would do to you.
"Heather's been like that since DADA. Professor Moody demonstrated the Killing Curse today. She reacted...badly to it," Fred said. They daren't try their usual confusing speech when the Professor was in such a mood. Heck, they hardly did it when he was in a good mood. Or whenever Heather said he was in a good mood. They took her word for it.
The look in the man's eyes now promised murder, though they were grateful to note that it was no longer directed at them. Professor Moody could handle himself. Probably. Maybe.
"That will be all. Go for dinner," Snape ordered.
Ignoring their screaming instincts, they said as one, "No."
At his thunderous expression, George hurried to add, "We'd like to stay with Heather. We're not hungry anyway." They'd just sneak to the kitchens later.
"Oh, let the boys stay, Severus. It'd do the poor dear good to have familiar faces when she wakes. I imagine she'll be disoriented," Madam Pomfrey said chidingly.
They hid their entertainment at seeing their frightening Potions Professor obey the caring matron. Apparently, Poppy Pomfrey wasn't a force to be trifled with.
They settled down in either side of their best friend's bed, taking up the roles of two fierce guards. Of course, in comparison to the other person in the room, they looked about as threatening as pixies. They were surprised to see the man join them in their vigil. Sure, he was actually reading some parchment or whatever, but the perplexed glances the Mediwitch gave him were telling.
Fine, they knew now what Heather meant when she said he was good to the Slytherins. Didn't mean he wasn't still a git.
Professor Snape 'kindly' allowed them to stay until curfew, before promptly banishing them. Unfortunately, Heather didn't wake before they left. They were Gryffs, but they weren't idiots, contrary to popular belief. Defying the man once was enough. It'd only worked because of Madam Pomfrey's intervention anyway.
~~~
Only the first day of term and the girl was in the infirmary. Granted, it wasn't her fault at all. Severus was going to strangle the paranoid old bastard. Acclaimed Auror Alastor may be, but a teacher he was not. He himself didn't have much high ground to stand on, but at least he could claim to never have frightened his students enough to land them in a practically comatose state! Did the man not have enough tact in that mad brain of his, or had the contraption in his socket knocked it out of him? Anyone in Wizarding Britain who had not been living under a rock the past thirteen years would know about the Potters' experience with the Killing Curse! It would be obvious that Heather Lyra would fear it, knowing her parents had succumbed to it.
"Severus, you should be getting back to your quarters, it's late," Poppy said.
He looked up from the parchment in his hands. "As soon as I make sense of this mess you call an organised list. No wonder this place is always understocked."
She gave him a knowing glance. "That's never troubled you before."
"Clearly, I underestimated the chaos that runs rampant here."
She sighed, "Of course, Severus," before leaving for her own adjoining quarters.
Once he was alone with the girl, he allowed himself to study her. She looked pale, more so because of the weak moonlight streaming in through the windows. Her face was scrunched up in distress, body tensed. What visions plagued her? Was it the dying screams of her parents as green light engulfed them? Or was it the unnamed horrors of her childhood? Heather Lyra had much to feed her night terrors.
Caught up in his morbid thoughts as he was, he almost failed to notice the twitching of her eyelids - a signal of her awakening. She jerked to wakefulness, all but launching herself out of the bed. Panting heavily, she clutched at her neck- no, a necklace she wore that had an odd pointed pendant.
All this he observed in the corner of his eyes, keeping his gaze fixed on the stocklist he held and writing noisily with his quill. He waited for the girl to notice him first; he still recalled the last time he had startled her when she was agitated.
"Professor Snape?" she asked roughly. Swallowing dryly, she looked to the bedside table for the glass of water Poppy always left for her patients and took several careful sips.
"How are you feeling, Miss Potter?" Probably much better, despite the shadows under her eyes and slight tremble in her hands. If the twin menaces could be believed, she had steadily become less responsive since the first Unforgivable was cast, descending slowly but surely into a state of absolute catatonia. At the very least, she now had life in her eyes.
"Fine," she said shortly. As expected. When was she ever not 'fine'?
"Your Weasleys were so insane with worry that they were almost well-behaved."
That teased a smile out of her - a faint one, but still discernible. "They're just protective. Have you met their mother? They never stood a chance."
Well enough for witty repartee. She would be fine, then. "Protective enough to face off against the feared vampire of the dungeons?"
"Well, they're also Gryffindors," she returned, smirking slightly.
"Now that I can believe."
To his immense relief - and he tucked that away to examine later - Heather Lyra laughed at that. "Thank you, Professor. I needed a good laugh after what happened today." Pausing slightly, she said, "I assume Fred and George told you what happened?"
He nodded. "If necessary, you may be excused from further lessons on that particular topic." Logically, he knew that she had to get over this extreme reaction quickly. Any indiscriminate Killing Curse and she was as good as hit. However, the wan features he looked at now made him want to storm up to Alastor and demand he cease and desist with any such lessons. Or better yet, sequester her in his personal lab for a brewing session. Anything to erase that haunted look in her green eyes.
Frustratingly, unwaveringly, bravely, she shook her head 'no'. "I'll get over it."
He didn't doubt she would. Even if she had to tear herself apart into emotional tatters. And that was what worried him.
Unaccustomed to providing comfort, he asked haltingly, "Would you like to talk about it?"
He recognised the stubborn set of her mouth, firmer than Lily's had ever been. Sitting placidly, he waited for her to consider his offer. It would do no good to browbeat her into it. It wouldn't work. Not when she was more obstinate than even her mother.
She stared deeply into his eyes. Seeming to look for something. What she found, he did not know, but it prompted her to speak.
"I can see thestrals."
Whatever he had been expecting, it was not that. His mind blanked as the implications sunk in. Surely not. Perhaps... "After your first year, with Quirrell?" he asked, not-quite desperately.
Smiling sadly, she shook her head. "Before that. If I'd been near one after 31 October 1981, I would have seen it."
Dear Salazar. That... That meant... "No."
"Yes. I was there in the nursery that night. Saw the entire thing happening. I was in the wardrobe." Her smile became a bitter thing, so unsuited to her young features. "The end of my innocence occurred in a wardrobe. What was left of it slowly died in a cupboard," she whispered, before a sardonic chuckle escaped her lips.
Cupboard? No, he would ponder that odd statement later. "You saw?" he choked out.
"Everything," she whispered. "Hadrian hears our mother's screams before she died only when he's near dementors." Her gaze changed, turning into something far-off and ancient. "I'm glad for him. I... I remember what she said - her last words - with perfect clarity. 'Not my baby. No, take me instead.' I remember the way the green light hit her, the way she collapsed. I remember the way she died."
He had no words to speak in response to this horrifying revelation. A child of merely three years, witness to such evil. His face must have given away some of his thoughts, because she seemed to snap out of her trance-like state.
"I'm sorry." Her face crumpled in worry, reaching her hand out towards him. "Are you alright?"
Was he alright? He didn't deserve her concern. His own actions had wrought all this. All the misery and grief in this girl, aged before her time. "It is I who should be asking that."
Her expression softened and she shook her head lightly. "You loved her too, didn't you?" she said gently.
He jerked, startled, at the words. Stared into the emerald depths filled with understanding. He stood abruptly, muttered some drivel about getting some rest, and strode out.
He steadfastly refused to think of it as escaping.