Lyra Potter and her potter luck

Chapter 1: My relatives say hello

Lyra is greeted home by her relatives after the conclusion of order of the pheonix.

Lyra was never one to hate and yet the Dursleys always managed to make her hate them. Within 10 minutes of her arriving at their house -no not home, she refuses to call it that- her aunt had slapped her for 'unladylike behaviour' (a load of tosh if you ask Lyra) and her cousin had broken her glasses. Lucky for her she had spelled them to repair on their own when broken, a brilliant charm she had found in the restricted section for some reason?

Settling onto the rock-hard mattress that was her bed, she reflected on her year. In short it had been absolute crap, all she needed to do to remember that was look at the back of her hand. Firstly, she had received almost no correspondence before term had began, the only letters being those from her supposed friends; Ron and Hermione, apologising about not being able to tell her anything, despite her having seen her friend Cedric die only a few weeks prior.

Secondly, Umbridge, that's all she had to say ;torture, humiliation, taking her freedom, Umbridge had done it all. Perhaps the torture she could forgive -her relatives had already got her accustomed to that- the humiliation, she was used to it from the prophet but taking her freedom that was unforgivable and the dark vindictive part of her screamed for revenge. Next had been the atrocious DA lessons that had meant Lyra had to teach instead, taking up a lot of her time and therefore stopping her trying to learn herself. Obviously there had also been her OWL's and though they were difficult and she had been unprepared, she was certain she'd only failed history of magic -DA being the one she was most confident in. 

Finally was the fact her bloody godfather was now DEAD. Sweet Morgana, Lyra knew something was off and yet she'd ignored it 'cus Ron thought mouldy-shorts actually had him. 

What made it worse was that when she'd been dropped off, Dumbledore had told her uncle that Sirius was dead. She had never seen the man look so happy. Sighing, she rolled over the dirty grey blanket that rested on her bed and attempted to sleep.

Her attempts were for nought apparently, as the nightmare that revolved around Voldemort's crimson eyes seemed to terrify her subconscious so much she awoke (though she would never tell Voldemort that). Seeing no chance of returning to sleep, she pulled the shrunken trunk from deep in her pocket and reversed the enchantment with a simple hiss -the password being parseltongue for Sirius- another spell she had found in the restricted section, and pulled out the stupid potions essay Snape had set for over the summer.