FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT ► harry potter ¹

002. Deadly Dementor

CHAPTER TWO

LYRA BLACK STOOD AT Platform 9 ¾, a sense of unease simmering beneath her composed exterior. The station was filled with the cacophony of families saying their goodbyes, friends reuniting after a summer apart, and owls hooting from their cages. It was a chaotic symphony of sound and movement, but Lyra's focus was elsewhere—on the dark, calculating eyes of her uncle Lucius Malfoy.

"Remember what we told you, Lyra," Lucius sneered, his voice low and venomous, eyes flicking to hers as though testing her resolve.

"Yes, Uncle Lucius," Lyra responded firmly, her chin lifting just a fraction. She knew better than to display any weakness in front of him. His gaze was cold, his expression set in that permanent, cruel disdain that often twisted his features when he looked at anyone he deemed beneath him. She had learned to steel herself against that look, to stand tall and defiant.

Lucius continued, "We've told Cornelius Fudge that you won't be needing any extra protection at Hogwarts." His words carried a subtle threat, one Lyra could hear clearly even if no one else did. She knew what he meant—she was to stay quiet, to blend into the shadows, to be unseen.

Lyra nodded, her eyes scanning the crowd. She saw parents giving her sidelong glances, whispering furiously to one another. She could feel the weight of their stares, the way they regarded her with both fear and suspicion. She could almost hear their hushed conversations: "Isnt that Black girl? Sirius's daughter?" "I heard she's just like him—dark, unhinged." She rolled eyes to herself. Let them talk.

Goodbyes were never emotional for the Malfoys; they were cold and perfunctory, devoid of any warmth or sentiment. Narcissa gave a polite nod to Draco and a fleeting smile to Lyra, while Lucius's lips barely moved as he offered a half-hearted farewell.

"Aunt Narcissa, Uncle Lucius," Lyra said with a respectful nod, more out of habit than genuine sentiment. "Come on, Draco, we don't want to be late, do we?" She smirked at her cousin, who stood beside her, trying to mask his own unease.

Draco nodded and gave his parents a final look. "Mother, Father," he said stiffly. Narcissa's smile was tight, and Lucius's expression didn't change at all.

The train's whistle blew, a sharp, piercing sound that cut through the chatter and signaled it was time to board. As Lyra and Draco stepped onto the train, she could feel dozens of eyes on her, the whispers growing louder. The cold glares from the students were almost palpable, and she responded with her own chilling glare—a glare that spoke of a dark, dormant fury.

Lyra could hear their whispers as they passed:

"Of course, she helped her father escape."

"I hope he finds her next."

"No wonder her mother offed herself."

That last comment stung, a sharp knife twisting in an old wound. Her face betrayed nothing, but her hand twitched, and Draco, sensing her anger, reached out to entwine their fingers.

"Come on, Lyra, don't listen to them. They're just filthy mudbloods beneath us," Draco murmured, his voice low and comforting in its own twisted way.

Lyra's gaze shifted through the corridor, and her eyes met a pair of intense, emerald-green ones. Harry Potter's. His eyes were more than just green—they were alive with something untamed, something fierce and resilient. They were the kind of green that could cut through shadows, that could bring light to the darkest places. The kind of green that had seen too much, too soon, and survived. For a fleeting moment, they stared at each other, two forces on opposite sides of a war neither chose but were born into.