Deadly Obsession ~ Tom Riddle

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔫𝔢

Lyra's fingers tugged at the hem of her tattered coat, conscious of the way she appeared to the public. She hadn't had time to change before Dumbledore took her under his wing. As they walked down a muggle street, which she did not know the name of, she felt the scrutinising stares piercing into her skin. The glares were unsettling, feeling uncomfortable in her own body. Such a mundane environment she was in, and yet, nothing about it felt normal. Dumbledore stopped in his tracks, and Lyra looked up from the ground to see a pub. "The Leaky Cauldron," she breathed. The professor beside her only hummed, as he instructed her to follow him in. Wrapping her arms around herself, she strolled into the tavern behind the professor, and watched as everyone stared at him in admiration. A soft exhale left her pallid lips.

Lyra followed the professor, stepping closer to him for a sense of comfort. But he provided nothing of the sort as he strode ahead, sending soft, plastered smiles to the people in the pub. She almost scoffed at the fictitiousness of the professor's actions. Echoes of whispers filled the room, the tension so thick she could've cut it with a knife. Lyra opened her mouth to protest, as he led them to the back of the pub, and to a brick wall. Dumbledore's hand shot out, and tapped some bricks with his wand, and soon, all of the bricks began twisting away from the centre to reveal a busy alley.
        She could do nothing, say nothing, as she stared in awe at Diagon Alley. Hundreds of young witches and wizards scampered up and down the alley, brooms and books in hand. There were very few older students, she noticed, as she walked into Ollivander's wand shop. An old man peeped his head out from behind the shelves, and immediately grinned as he took in the sight of the Hogwarts professor and the mysterious new student. "Ah, Albus. What can I do for you?" The man, Ollivander, asked. "Garrick, my old friend, I have a transfer student here and she is in need of a wand." Ollivander's eyes shot to the frail girl, and nodded as he disappeared in between the shelves.

She watched as the man approached her with a wand. "Have you ever used a wand before?" He asked her. Lyra shook her head. There was never a need for a wand as she'd only ever been taught non-verbal and wandless magic. Along with magic that came from the deepest caverns of hell. Magic that always required a price.

"Very well," said Ollivander, as she handed her the wand, "It's laurel wood, 8 inches with a core of unicorn hair." She reached her hand out, trembling slightly with fear, and clasped her fingers around the stern wand. "Reducto," Lyra whispered. The wand reacted dangerously, blasting dozens of objects to pieces. She winced as she handed Ollivander the wand back, sending a silent apology through her eyes. The man smiled, "No worries, dear." Lyra looked up at Dumbledore, who sent a reassuring nod back at her. Ollivander reappeared, with another wand in his hand. "Cedar wood, 7 and a half inches with a Dragon Heartstring core." He explained as he placed the wand in her hand. An unfamiliar sense of warmth spread through her body, the wand's magic coursing through her veins. The Dragon Heartstring core meant that she could be easily turned to the dark side, and Albus thought about how that could possibly interfere with her task. Despite such thoughts, both Dumbledore and Ollivander looked at her with delight as she fiddled with the wand between her delicate fingers. "This is–," the word got stuck in her throat, as a small smile creeped onto her lips.

Later;

Lyra stood in front of the doors of the Great Hall, waiting for them to open and let her in. Dumbledore had informed her that she would be entering after the first years, on her own. A few deep breaths later, she shook her hands beside her body, awaiting her entrance into the hall. Lyra jumped slightly as the doors swung open slowly, and all eyes were on her. Sighing lightly, she straightened her back, and lifted her chin up ever so slightly as she strode into the hall. Her posture radiated confidence, and thanks to the uniform Dumbledore had provided it, she looked the part too. A black robe hung loosely on her body, the white shirt she wore tucked into her mini grey skirt. Her white socks were pulled up to her shin, and black shoes clacked against the floor of the Great Hall, resonating off of the walls.