𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖝𝖎𝖛

a terrible tale of tutoring

His hands trailed higher and higher, leaving a trail of goosebumps on her milky skin. In the blink of an eye, his head disappeared under the fabric of her skirt, and his fingers skimmed over right where she needed him the most . . .

Lyra awoke with a start. A gasp ripped itself from the depths of her throat whilst she struggled under the weight of the silk sheets, panting.

''Nightmare?'' Alecto asked from her vanity table. She was absorbed with staring into her own reflection, pouting her lips.

''Yeah,'' the Lestrange girl murmured, shuffling out of her bed. ''Something like that.''

The so-called nightmare was anything but, in fact. Lyra wouldn't go as far to say it was a dream, but it was . . . nice. Not that it should be nice, fantasizing about your betrothed's brother doing unspeakable things to you, but then again it was entirely out of her control.

Almost.

They say that whatever you think about before you fall asleep is related to what you dream about, and the brunette had began to see the truth in that statement. Even though it was against her will — and her better judgement — her mind couldn't help but stray down the dark path that was Sirius Black more often than not. It was like a reflex (an annoying one, at that) yet she couldn't help it.

It's not like she wanted to be plagued with such thoughts. Quite the contrary, actually. She wanted to continue living her life like she had been up until now, minus the unquenchable thirst for lust. She wanted to be peacefully engaged to Regulus, finish school, get married, and pop out a baby or two; as was her destiny.

Everything for her had already been planned, and Lyra would be a fool to drag a sponge down the chalkboard that was her life for a few minutes of pleasure, as opposed to a lifetime of security and stability.

Which is why, as always, she buried down the thoughts in their own designated graveyard in her mind, got herself ready to Walburga's standards, and rushed to breakfast with Alecto. After the amount of time they had spent doing their hair and makeup, it was a wonder there was even some food left for them.

''Good morning, girls.''

''Where are Mulciber and Wilkes?'' The pure-blood witch asked, ignoring Barty's greeting and sliding into her designated seat between Regulus and Evan.

Avery shrugged, grimacing at the unpolished silverware in front of him. ''Said they had something they needed to plan,'' he muttered. ''Seriously, do the house-elves in this place know no decorum?''

''It's Hogwarts,'' Snape droned. ''What did you expect?''

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Regulus raised his head from between the book he was always so infatuated with. There were dark crescent moons underneath his grey eyes which hadn't been there before, and his hair had fallen to a limp mane of onyx.

''Merlin, Regulus, you look awful,'' Alecto commented. ''What's up with you?''

He ignored the red-haired girl, staring straight at Lyra. ''Where's your ring?''

Lyra blinked at him blankly for a moment, glancing down at her right hand. Surprisingly, she hadn't noticed it before; the heirloom ring with the Lestrange family crest was absent from her middle finger, which certainly was looking rather lackluster.

A pit of dread formed in her stomach. If Rodolphus or Rabastan got wind that she had lost one of their family's most prized possessions, she'd never hear the end of it.

''I must have misplaced it,'' she dismissed, feigning disinterest as her heart pounded beneath her chest. ''I'll have a look later.''

''Perhaps Dolohov took it,'' Snape suggested, buttering himself some toast. ''Heard through the grapevine that he's got sticky fingers.''

''He's not like that,'' Alecto defended, glaring at the sullen-skinned boy. ''Just because he isn't Sacred Twenty-Eight doesn't make him any less of a pure-blood.''

''Actually, it does,'' Evan smirked.

Amycus scowled, rounding onto his sister. ''I thought father told you to stop seeing him?''

''I have. Partially.''

Barty rolled his eyes. ''You never learn, do you?''

''Clearly not,'' Lyra agreed. ''If I learn that it was Dolohov who took my ring, he'll be having more than just me to answer to.''

Deep down, she had an inkling of who could've been the culprit. There was a particular person that had just enough nerve to pull something like that, and for her own sake, Lyra hoped she wasn't mistaken.

The brunette drowned out the remainder of their conversation, scanning through the Daily Prophet. It was only when a certain splotch of black ink gained her interest that she tapped Regulus on the shoulder, drawing his attention to her.

''Giants are destroying the south west,'' she whispered, propping the paper in front of him. ''Do you or your little group know anything about this?''

His face remained void of any emotion as he pushed the newspaper away, shutting his leather-bound book. ''Let it go, Lyra,'' he spat. ''I don't want to have to tell you to ❛know your place❜, but—''

''But what?'' She wondered, narrowing her eyes at him. ''Go ahead, Regulus. Remind me that I'm just a woman, and you're just a man, so I should keep my mouth shut but remain at your side. Silent but pretty.''

''Don't you dare make this about something that it's not. How many times do I have to tell you that I'm protecting you—''

''What are you two lovebirds whispering about?''

The threatening tension that was bubbling between the two dissolved, as though the flame that was responsible for cooking a potion had been extinguished. The couple shifted away from each other, sighing simultaneously.

''None of your concern, Avery.''

Lyra didn't recognize Regulus anymore. Sure, the changes in him weren't inherently bad, but they were just . . . different. There was still no doubt in her mind that he'd be a good husband, only that's not what she wanted. She wanted a protector and provider, yes, but she also wanted someone she could speak freely with.

In his mind, it was all to protect her. All the lies, all the half-truths, and all the secrets. Yet, he failed to realize that her existence in itself was a hazard. Just like Icarus, when he floated too close to the sun.

''I have to get to class,'' she scoffed. ''Have a nice day, all.''

No one questioned that all the sixth year Slytherins were scheduled a free period that morning. Instead, they all mumbled their own goodbyes, leaving Lyra to get on with her day whilst they continued with their ramblings about how foolish Dumbledore was and the affair between Atlas Parkinson's father and a Muggle-born maid.

With all her friends in the Great Hall, the brunette made her way back down to the dungeons and into the Slytherin common room, sure she'd remain undisturbed. The general lack of lighting and gothic green interior always made her feel at home, and the window with a view right into the Black Lake was oddly therapeutic once you got used to the Giant Squid popping into sight every other minute.

''Ah, Miss Lestrange! Just the girl I was looking for!''

The brunette pursed her pink lips, slipping her legs off of the leather couch she was reclining on and back onto the floor. ''Professor Slughorn,'' she clipped. ''What can I do for you?''

''I've come to inform you that over the summer, I had a little talk with Professor McGonagall of Gryffindor House. We've come to the decision that both you and a certain student may benefit from some assistance, now that you're both advancing to NEWT level in your studies.''

''Assistance? With all due respect, professor, I have access to tutors who earn more in an hour than you do in a month. What could another student possibly teach me that I don't already know myself?''

''I'm afraid it's non-negotiable, Miss Lestrange. If it's any consolation, you two aren't the only pair selected for this new programme of Dumbledore's.''

''This was all Dumbledore's idea, was it?'' Lyra clarified. ''Why am I not surprised. So, which subject is it that I'm so severely lacking in?''

''Transfiguration. You yourself will be tutoring them in potions.''

''Right. Who is my knight in shining armour, then?''

''Sirius Black, of course.''

His name alone was nearly enough to make the brunette keel over. She stared at the teacher before her, completely affronted, whilst her chest heaved in a sudden rush of anger.

This couldn't be happening.

Not only had he completely infiltrated her head, body, and soul, he was now going to be inserted into her everyday life, too. Was this a higher being's way of punishing her for her sinful thoughts? Was Sirius going to be the end of Lyra?

''No.''

''No?''

''No,'' she repeated. ''I refuse to work with that . . . Gryffindor.''

''I don't understand, Miss Lestrange. It is of my understanding that you and Mr Black are to be married within the next few years.''

''Yes, except you've got the wrong Mr Black, professor. I'm engaged to Regulus, not Sirius.''

Slughorn shook his head, looking more dazed than ever. He smiled sympathetically at the teenage girl, jotting down some notes with his wand over the clipboard in his hands.

''Nevertheless, I'm sure you two will be fine. You must know Sirius rather well, he really is a lovely boy—''

''I do know him well, hence why I'd rather not be succumbed to the horrors of working with him outside of the classroom. Even inside, however, is an effort I'm not willing to perform.''

''My apologies, Miss Lestrange. Like I said, though, the matter is non-negotiable.''

As if Lyra's day couldn't get any more terrible, she had prefect duties that evening.

Spending two hours and fourty-five minutes patrolling the dark, lonely corridors with no one but a Gryffindor — much less a half-blood werewolf — was not the Lestrange girl's idea of a night well spent. It's not like she had a choice, though.

Remus sat at the bottom of the third floor staircase waiting for the brunette right before the clock struck eight. His knee was bouncing up and down nervously as he greeted her with a polite smile.

''Lestrange.''

''Lupin.''

They toured the corridors for the first hour in complete and utter silence. All you could hear was the boy's breaths and the girl's throat as she cleared it; the pure-blood witch felt as though a cold was overcoming her. It could've also been his lycanthropy affecting her magical blood, too.

Remus wasn't stupid, however. He saw the way she edged as far away from him as possible in the hallways and as they rounder corners, as well as her fearful glances at the glimmering crescent moon outside.

She knew, and he knew that she knew.

At first glance, it was hard to tell. Although there was no stereotypical, ❛one size fits all❜ look for a werewolf (unless you went by the name Fenrir Greyback), you just wouldn't imagine someone like Remus Lupin. Sure, he was a half-blood, and a poor one at that, but he was also rather pleasant to talk to. He was very smart, too, and Lyra had even overheard a group of younger Ravenclaws discussing the fact that he folded his socks.

His voice was barely above a whisper as he asked the fateful question. ''How long have you known?''

The Lestrange girl pursed her pink lips; her brown eyes floated to the night sky once more. ''Since our OWLS.''

''And you haven't told anyone? You haven't told your friends, who'd start a hunt for my head? You haven't told your brothers, who'd ruin my life in the blink of an eye?''

''You're right. I haven't.''

''Why?''

Lyra didn't know why. He was a werewolf, for Merlin's sake! Once a night, every full moon, he turned into a viscous, man-eating beast. He'd run around the Forbidden Forest, killing anything and everything in his sight, and then howl deeply into the night.

Then again, all the other nights, he was just a boy. A boy, who just like her, studied at Hogwarts. Just like her, he loved to read, and he'd even gotten the badge the same summer she had.

''I don't know.''

He accepted her pathetic excuse for an answer, and a silence befell them one more. If only her friends and family saw her now, Lyra thought, just before she dug her own grave a little deeper.

''Don't think this means I like you, Lupin. To be clear, I don't. Just because I have the decency to keep certain things to myself doesn't make you any less of a half-blooded Gryffindor — one who is a part of the Marauders, no less.''

The scarred boy scoffed, stopping in his tracks. ''You really think you're that much better than me?''

''Oh, I think we both know the answer to that.''

This time, he laughed. It wasn't a mirthless chuckle, either. No, it was a full-blown guffaw; he clutched at his stomach and joyful tears welled in his eyes and he spluttered as he struggled to get the words out.

''What's so funny?'' Lyra demanded. ''The fact that you won't ever be able to hold down a steady job in your life?''

''I—It's just th—that . . . I—I've seen it all be—before.''

''Seen what?''

''The arrogance. The haughtiness. The full wallets and the empty hearts. People like you have voids in their souls that can't be filled, so you cheat and lie — anything to find some meaning in your shallow existences, really.''

Lyra stared back at him, slowly processing his call-out. She waited for him to continue laughing at this joke, but his expression turned serious and he regarded her with a mocking like no other.

''Excuse me?''

''Just take a look at yourself, Lestrange. You're engaged to someone you don't even want to marry, and why? To keep the cash flowing and your family happy.''

''How would you know that I don't want to marry Regulus?''

''Oh, you do — just not for the right reasons. You want to marry him because he's rich, from a respectable family, your brothers approve, and he's fairly good-looking. In short, he's perfect on paper. That's why you want to marry him. Not for love.''

''Right, Lupin. I don't know who decided to acclaim you as an honorary cupid, but I'm afraid you've got it all wrong. I . . . I love Regulus.''

Lyra didn't love Regulus.

The hesitation in her voice wasn't as well veiled as she had expected it to be. It seemed as though the brunette had began to lose her touch, which wasn't a good sign. Keeping up appearances were a huge element to the elite pure-blood society, and she either had to shape up or risk being shipped out.

''No, you don't. You love the idea of him, but you don't love him.''

''What makes you so sure?''

''I can see it in your eyes, Lestrange. When you look at him, there's nothing there. Like, sure. Admiration, maybe. But love? No . . . not a chance.''

The brunette rolled her eyes, darting up the staircase to the fourth floor with him hot on her heels. It pissed her off to no end that he happened to be right. Not that she'd admit it, of course.

''You're wrong.''

''Whatever helps you sleep at night, princess.''

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the raspy voice behind her. Lyra whirled back around, spotting Sirius at the bottom of the staircase her and Remus had just climbed up.

He was leaning leisurely against the banister, staring up at the torches that hung against the stony walls. Their rays of light beamed throughout the grand rooms, bouncing off beautifully in the grey irises of his almond eyes.

''It's past curfew, Black. You're out of bounds.''

''No, I'm not. I'm with Moony.''

''No, you're not. I'm with . . . Lupin. You should get back to your common room before Mrs Norris sniffs out the stench of your awful cologne.''

''Now, now, that's no way to talk to your tutor,'' he chastised. ''Besides, you had no complaints about the scent of my cologne during the summer. What's changed?''

Her mouth hung open momentarily at his comment. It wasn't outright suggestive, but it could give the wrong idea to an outsider. Lyra bristled, composing herself as Remus watched the interaction between the two with narrowed eyes and a suspicious smirk.

''Nothing has changed. Especially you being an insufferable wanker, that remains constant.''

''Oh, you're breaking my heart, Lestrange,'' he crooned. ''Why don't you let me take over here, and you can get back to your little snake den to slither with all your reptilian friends?''

''Not a chance, Black.''

Sirius rolled his tongue over his cheek, sweeping the dark strands of hair from his forehead. As he did so, a familiar piece of jewelry twinkled lavishly in the moonlight. Given Lyra's slim fingers, it hardly fit on his pinky, but it was unmistakably engraved with her family crest.

''My ring.''

''This old thing?'' He wondered, examining the ring slowly. ''Thought it looked familiar.''

''Don't you have your own heirloom pieces to strut around in?''

''Nope, they all got gifted to little Reggie the second I was sorted.''

''Shame. Give it.''

''Not a chance, Lestrange.''