𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖝𝖛

salazar slytherin's stables

Three weeks.

In other words, it had been twenty-one days since the official start of term or Lyra's sixth year at Hogwarts. Quite possibly, it was also the start of her end.

Her friends were becoming more and more insufferable to be around by the second, to start of with. Alecto and Amycus had declared themselves to be in some sort of cold war over Antonin Dolohov, egged on by Avery. Mulciber and Wilkes had taken a turn for the worse, disappearing at all sorts of odd times with the excuse of a ❛surprise❜. Lyra had gone back to being invisible in Regulus' eyes, who spent all his free time conversing in hushed whispers with Evan and Barty.

The teachers were cracking down, too. Scrolls of parchment piled up high on the brunette's desk and it seemed as though every waking second of her existence was either spent in class, completing homework, or studying for some sort of stupid exam that the professors insisted upon.

Then, there was Sirius Black.

They were yet to arrange and time and place for their tutoring, and the Lestrange girl intended to keep it that way for as long as possible. She didn't know what the late night meetings with just them two would entail, and frankly, she wasn't interested in finding out.

Lyra couldn't help the effect he had on her. It was stupid, and it was irritating — what kind of girl fawned over the flash of a pearly-white smile? Unfortunately, she did; the thought made her ill. Her head ached and pounded at the sound of his deep drawl, and her beating heart fell to the fiery pits of her stomach whenever he so much as glanced her way.

She was a respectable girl, yet there was nothing respectable at the way she was acting. In summary, she had to get a grip.

Salazar Slytherin's Stables were a squat compound a few meters away from the Forbidden Forest. The cream-coloured walls were crawling with ivy, and the pillars had been chipped away by the cruel weather, yet the rent to keep a horse there during the school year was more than most students could afford.

Not including the pure-blood Slytherins. Almost every member of the green and silver house had bought out a single stable for their horse, including Lyra. Belladonna, who had once been her mother's horse, was a sweet old mare with a smooth gallop and a white shiny coat.

The brunette had woken up at the crack of dawn that morning, dressed herself as though she was to attend a gala the same evening, skipped breakfast and went straight out onto the Hogwarts grounds. A late September sun peeked through the hills of the Scottish Highlands as she levitated the saddle onto her horse before climbing on carefully, rather excited for a chance to clear her mind away from the idiots she seemed to constantly be around.

The beat of Belladonna's hooves against the dewy grass were a pleasant symphony to her ears, despite the wintry breeze and light drizzle. If it weren't for the mountain of homework awaiting in her dormitory, Lyra would have been more than happy to stay with her thoughts for the whole day.

Of course, that was too much to ask for.

The secondary sounds of another horse's neighs disrupted her serenity, crashing into it like a wrecking ball at full force. The brunette was convinced that at this point, some higher power had it out for her.

A flash of smoky grey blurred against the landscape, and the splash of a nearby puddle alerted her of an intruders presence. Of course, of fucking course, it just had to be Sirius Black.

He was riding his horse bare-back. For once, that infamous black leather jacket was nowhere to be seen, and he was sporting the same style of smart clothing that he had been for the whole summer. Lyra thought the robes didn't suit him as much as they should've done for a member of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, but she couldn't deny that he looked good — it would've been a crime.

The Lestrange girl brushed the riding hood off of her head, pushing away the stray strands of hair that had escaped from her loose braid. If Walburga could see her now, she'd simply burst a blood vessel at her improper appearance.

In Sirius' opinion, however, there was nothing wrong with how she looked. Some would say it was unladylike, but in truth, she was just effortlessly beautiful. Even with hardly-there makeup, muddy clothes, and curled pieces of hair framing her face, the sight made his heart flutter.

He nodded his head courteously, tipping his hat as he did so. Lyra regarded him warily with a small smile, whipping Belladonna's reigns so that she'd make haste in the other direction.

As he watched her go, an arrogant smirk made it's way on to his expression behind her back; he took this as a challenge. Directing his horse in the opposite direction, he swiftly rode through a cluster of oak trees, rounding around the path so as to cut her off.

''Enjoying your morning lap?''

''Oh, for Merlin's sake!'' The Lestrange girl groaned. ''What did you think this was, some sort of race?''

Sirius grinned, reveling her flushed cheeks and shortage of breath. ''Wasn't it?''

''Doesn't one need actual competition for a race?''

''You could say that if we'd decided on a finish line together, but I don't remember making such an agreement.''

''Someone's a sore loser,'' she mocked. ''I'm on my way back to the stables, so if you'll just—''

''The stables?'' He repeated. ''Well then, I assume that cuts our date short.''

''Date?'' Lyra laughed. ''I appreciate the sentiment, Black, but I assure you that I am uninterested. Perhaps we pretend that this encounter never happened? You allow me to go my way, and you go yours.''

''You worry about being seen.''

That much was obvious. Had anyone else been out on an early morning ride and saw the two together, it would be a scandal that would make the rounds around their society faster than one could blink.

But she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction about being right, nor was she going to even let an inkling show of the power he held over her. Only, he was already aware of both; he could read Lyra like an open book, yet she was only just going to find out how well he really knew her.

''I worry about bumping into strange men in the Highlands at dawn who fail to leave me alone, actually.''

''Your secret is safe with me,'' the elder Black brother promised, placing his hand where his heart might have been. ''I won't tell a soul.''

''How grateful I am.''

''I meant my secret,'' he clarified. ''Y'know, losing races to strange women in the Highlands at dawn. I could only imagine the eyebrows that would raise.''

''So, you admit you lost?''

''In the rare instances that it occurs, I have no difficulty in admitting that I have lost, or that I'm in the wrong. I'm afraid the same can't be said for you, though.''

''Excuse me?''

''The stables aren't in this direction,'' he stated, pointing up ahead as the sounds of their horse's hooves synchronized. ''They're in the opposite way entirely.''

He was right. In all her fluster, Lyra had led Belladona in the completely wrong direction of where she had claimed to be heading. Sirius puffed his chest out proudly as though he had just created a potion worthy of Professor Slughorn's praise, staring down at the girl beside him.

''So they are. Have a good day, Sirius.''

Wilkes and Mulciber's claims of a surprise were anything but.

That evening, after everyone had ate dinner and returned to their respective common rooms or the library, the two pure-bloods rounded up their group of friends under the guise of ❛having a laugh❜. Regulus begrudgingly followed as he had been banned taking that damned book with him, but Avery, Alecto, and Amycus were more than happy to drop everything at the boys' beck and call, unlike a confused Lyra, Barty, and Evan.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn the Lestrange girl expected to run into Filch or Mrs Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed to the trophy room.

The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the waning moon caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either ends of the room as the minutes crept by.

This sort of secrecy was odd, to say the least. Usually, the gang of Slytherins had little care whether or not they were caught past curfew — after all, there was nothing that daddy's money couldn't fix, even if it was something as feeble as detention. An eerie sense of dread gnawed at Lyra, especially once she noticed the dangerous sparks in both of the boys eyes.

A noise in the next room made all of them jump. The boys had only just raised their wands when they heard someone speak.

''Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.''

It was the caretaker, speaking to his cat. Horror-struck, Mulciber and Wilkes waved madly at the other seven to follow them as quickly as possible; they scurried silently towards the door away from Filch's voice. Avery's robes had barely whipped around the corner when they heard him enter the trophy room.

''They're in here somewhere,'' he croaked. ''Probably hiding . . . ''

Petrified, they began to slink down a long gallery full of suits and armour. Filch was getting nearer. Evan suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run — he tripped, grabbed Barty around the waist and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armour.

The clanging and clashing was enough to wake the whole castle.

They sprinted down the gallery led by Wilkes, not looking back to see whether Filch was following. They swung around the doorpost and hurtled down two corridors, without any idea where they were or where they were going. They ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, rushed along it and came out near a Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

''I think we've lost him,'' Lyra panted, leaning against the cold wall.

''No thanks to dumb and dumber,'' Alecto huffed, gesturing to Barty and Evan, who were wheezing and spluttering.

''On the bright side, we've made it,'' Wilkes grinned. ''Mulciber, if you'd do the honours . . . ''

The smirk on Mulciber's thin lips was sinister as he approached a broom closet. With a flick of his wand, the knob twisted slowly and the door creaked open. The weight of a body forced it all the way open, and out came the slumped form of Mary Macdonald.

''You didn't!'' Amycus gasped, grinning.

''Oh, but we did.''

Regulus rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall beside Lyra. ''A knocked-out Gryffindor girl is your idea of a surprise, boys?''

''It's not the girl that is the surprise, Black, but what's within the girl.''

''Are you trying to sound inspirational?'' Avery asked. ''Hurry up, you two.''

Barty and Evan watched, gobsmacked, as Wilkes shook the girl awake. Her lids flickered open, but before she had the chance to register her state or her surroundings, Mulciber pointed his wand at her.

''Imperio.''

Amycus and Avery began to whistle in glee, jogging each other with their elbows. Regulus spared a glance at Lyra, who watched the scene with wide eyes. There was a slight smirk on Alecto's face, as well as on Barty and Evan's.

''Where's Snape?'' The Black boy asked, drawing their attention momentarily.

Wilkes shrugged. ''Macdonald is friends with the Mudblood, Evans. Rumour has it that he spent the night outside the Gryffindor common room last year after he called her a Mudblood in front of everyone.''

''We don't want him getting any ideas of going to Dumbledore, now, do we?''

''It's not like she's hurt,'' Alecto agreed. ''We're just going to humiliate her, right? It's harmless.''

''They won't be able to prove it's Dark Magic,'' Avery hummed.

Amycus nodded his head. ''If push comes to shove, we all lie and say it was a powerful Confundus.''

''Let's just not get caught, alright?'' Regulus suggested, brushing his dark hair off of his forehead.

''You're awfully quiet, Lyra,'' the Rosier boy pointed out.

''What's wrong?'' Barty wondered. ''Scared, Lestrange?''

''Please,'' the pure-blood witch scoffed. ''It's nothing impressive compared to what I've seen from Rodolphus and Rabastan. Get on with it, then.''

There wasn't a single thought behind Mary's eyes. They were a vast ocean of nothingness as she was subjected to the cruel taunts of Mulciber, unwilling but without a choice.

''Get down on your knees,'' he ordered, as she had no choice but to oblige. ''Show just how much of a worthless Mudblood you can be, Macdonald.''

Mary began to kiss the hem of his robes. A twinge of sympathy wrenched at Lyra's heart as a ripple of chuckles and giggles elicited from the people surrounding her.

''Now, do the same to everyone else.''

Wilkes was first, followed by Avery and Amycus who both patted her head of curls condescendingly. Alecto squealed as the girl grasped her robes, and Evan and Barty were beside themselves with laughter, so much so that tears of joy were streaming down their faces.

Regulus' reaction was odd. He pursed his pink lips, watching the degradation. He was just as dark and evil as the rest of them, only he didn't want Lyra to see this side of him; truth be told, the brunette had no idea of the lengths her betrothed would go to in an effort to purify the Wizarding World.

A forced snicker slipped past her lips as Mary finally reached her. She stared down at the helpless girl before her. She could've done something — anything, really, but not without raising suspicion. So, she clamped her mouth shut and endured the sickening torture.

''Now, repeat after me,'' Mulciber demanded. ''❛I'm a filthy Mudblood❜.''

Her voice was weak and monotone, laced with the sadness her subconscious was surely feeling. ''I'm a flithy Mudblood,'' Mary repeated.

She wasn't the only one who was weak in this situation — so was Lyra. Instead of putting a stop to all this, even with a pathetic excuse of not wanting to get caught, she stayed silent. Standing by and not interfering made her just as bad as Mulciber, who had orchestrated the whole thing with the help of Wilkes.

''I'm a filthy Mudblood. I'm a flithy Mudblood. I'm a filthy Mudblood . . . ''

Lyra was weak. Undoubtedly so.