"Aba just told my aunts and cousins and stuff that I was sent to a boarding school specialising in deviant young boys." Which meant that being let home only around the holiday period was perfectly rational. What boarding school would want to keep their angsty teenagers around for the holidays?
Henry only snorted, which turned into a laugh. It was kind of true, neither of his Gryffindor sisters were gossip mongers in the slightest. Henry held the shining cup for gossip queen of the year in the house, much to Charlie’s displeasure.
"Howver did they come up with that lie?" Lyra said sarcastically with a soft laugh. Honestly, this would be the perfect cover for him, at least nobody would question it.
She turned as well, looking down the corridor they had just walked across. If they were going to the greenhouses they had just spent the past few minutes walking in the complete opposite direction, but anything was better than sitting stuck in a classroom where the teacher was about as interested as you.
"I never knew the greenhouses served as one of the rumor mills," Lyra said. "Dunno how it could have escaped me."
"Now, see, I can’t do that. I have to go back home every year for Hanukkah, that and keeping up ‘Muggle’ appearances for the extended family."
"Ah, that’s the worst way to get gossip. I s’pose it’s harder when you’re not a Slytherin, we’re the best for gossiping. Just sit around the Slytherin common room, among all those popular rich blokes, and you hear things that probably came straight from Atticus himself.” Henry puffed his chest proudly, “I am vastly up to date with my dirty deets.” But, he couldn’t really take Lyra to the Slytherin common room. He had already brought a Gryffindor girl in before, but that was late at night and the few that were up either didn’t notice, or assumed he was getting lucky.
“But, there are a… few good places to meet up and gossip. Usually around the greenhouses, where most skip classes to smoke. Bound to be a few gossip mongers there.”
"That´s where we differ. I think my mother fed the rest of her family some lies about me being at a musical school or something in that direction, so they simply assume that when I am absent during Christmas it simply means I am so dedicated to the music that I can´t be gone for two weeks. Saves me a whole lot of trouble."
"It is quite a bit harder for us lions I assume," she agreed. It seemed like most of her fellow Gryffindors were like her; although she enjoyed listening to gossip and speculate, she wasn´t really one to spread it herself. To her, that seemed to cross a line and was sorta mean. "Don´t get too much specified rumors in our tower, unless you know who to talk to. Only the general gist whenever something happens."
Lyra gave him a smile. "Let´s go to the greenhouses then!"
"If it works I’ll split some profits with you if you help me sell. I’m sure the guys trust your words far more than they will ever trust mine. Wouldn’t it be great if there was a potion equivalent to the Weasley’s shop? Potions are discreet and easier to hide than all the gadgets they have." Jericho had a million and one ideas to pitch to his fellow students in hopes that one of them would bring him success.
"Really?" she asked, looking over at him. That seemed like an easy way to make some money seeing as her job would simply helping to sell. "That sounds like a deal! I´m sure there are more people than just me desperate for some energy during late-night study session, your potions could easily become just as popular as any Weasley product. After all, they started selling around in school as well. I´ll start to ask around for potential buyers and I can try to spread the word of your potions."
“No, Dea, no wakey wakey now. It´s in the middle of the night. How did you even get here?”
Lyra supressed a groan as she pushed the warm blankets away and sat up in her bed, looking down at her baby sister. She could have sworn she´d locked her door, yet there it was wide open and bringing in light from the corridor. How Dea had managed to crawl out of her high bed and through two locked doors were beyond her imagination.
With a sigh, the older girl got up. “Come on, Dea, let´s go get you back to bed.”
The toddler started chatting excitedly in incoherent sentences- at least until Lyra placed a finger to her own lips. That made Dea repeat the gesture, nodding with a solemn expression as she shut up. The older girl took her hand.
“Quiet, quiet, yeah? Let´s not wake up mum and dad.”
“No wakey wakey,” the kid agreed, clinging on to her hand.
She kept her hand in Dea´s as they walked into the corridor, both making sure to be extra quiet as they walked past the door leading to the master bedroom. Luckily there were no hushed conversation coming from behind the door tonight. Lyra had been worried that was the reason her baby sister had woken up- even though she didn´t look as worried as she usually did whenever it happen, she could never be sure. Together they tiptoed past, the carped on the floor softening the sound of their footsteps. Lyra made sure to give her sister an encouraging –if not sleepy- smile to keep her silent and happy.
“There we are,” she said as they walked into the last room on the left before the stairs; Dea´s bedroom.
The inside was filled to the brim of teddy bears and dolls, some after Lyra and some new. Yellow flowers were painted on the wall, although their usual happy colour now was grey in the darkness. Dea must have opened the curtains, because she could see the streets of London outside the window- unusually quiet. It might have been in the middle of the night, but there was always traffic in London no matter the hour.
Maybe she was still dreaming. There were no traffic in dreams.
To be entirely honest she still felt like she was dreaming, so maybe she still was.
“Here now,” Lyra said softly as she picked the younger girl up and placed her in her bed. She still slept in a bed where one could roll up a grind to keep her from rolling (or climbing) out, for this very reason. Dea could never respect nap-time as a kid, but would constantly crawl out and take midnight walks around the house. Still did, it seemed.
Lyra tried to put the duvet on top of Dea, which was a task harder said than done as she kept squirming, wanting to stand up.
“Look Ly-ly, look!” She exclaimed, getting up and pointing at the window. Lyra glanced in the direction and stopped for a second.
Outside was a bright blue light flying across the sky, leaving no trail of smoke behind. No, wait, it was red! No, green! It kept changing colours as they watched, Dea making gleeful noises and softly clapping her hands at the pretty colours. Once again she got the feeling of dreaming rather than being awake, but before she had time to do something along the lines of pinching her arm, Dea did something that took her by surprise. She threw her tiny hands around her neck, giving her a hug.
If she wasn´t so damn tired she would have laughed out loud. Instead she went for a tired smile as she hugged her baby sister back. At least one person in this family was still happy to see her.
Lyra couldn´t remember going back to bed, but when she woke up next morning the memory felt hazy like a dream. Dea was in her usual happy mood during breakfast, but didn´t say anything about walking around the night before, so neither did Lyra. If it was real or just a dream she could never be sure, but nevertheless it was a good memory.
"Aww, no fun, Raccoon," he pouted, turning to walk backwards as he talked to her, "Christmas smish-shmash, like your parents are going to hear if you ‘accidentally’ set a few of the boy’s loos on fire, or charm all the owls pink." Henry hummed along, tapping his chin in consideration to her responses. "Well, yeah it is kind of early to start drinking, ‘specially if you want to get a decent buzz. Easier to get caught before it gets dark. But we could always do both? Glass of something, lurk around the rumour mill, throw bits of torn up parchment at people, the fun stuff.”
Truth be told, Henry could easily go without causing mischief - he had caused enough doodling over Lyra’s cheek. That, and there were other things he did when skipping— like homework, drawing, sometimes reading— but those were ‘boring’ things, and Henry didn’t want to be painted as boring.
Lyra rolled her eyes at what apparently was her new nickname. "Well, I´m not taking any chances. But then again, I just sent the yearly owl saying I won´t be coming home for Christmas, so if I decide to restyle the owls or torch school property I do assume that it will soften the blow a bit."
The girl raked her hand through her hair as he talked -a habit she had given up on trying to get rid off a long time ago- and walked on. Absentmindedly she started to slow down a little, lessening the chance of Henry crashing into something now that he wasn´t looking. "That sounds like a plan. Where is the infamous rumor-mill anyways? If it is a certain place I have never actually been there, I simply get my daily dose of gossip from second-hand sourced, aka third graders whispering ´discretely´ next to me during breakfast."
The memory was hazy, clouded with the fogs of time. Lyra wasn´t sure what made it stick out, neither did she know the reason why she still remembered it. Maybe her consciousness had decided to keep this one scene firmly lodged in her brain as a tiny candle in the dark, something to hold on to whenever she felt miserable. Something she could play whenever she lay curled up in bed and the lights were out. No matter the reason, the memory of the last time she saw her cousin was one she had been clinging on to for nearly ten years.
It had been raining all morning. Rain in London usually meant soft drops of warm water falling from the skies like tears, sending businessmen and kids alike scattering of the streets and into nearby stores for a few minutes until the drizzle was done. Up north it was a more miserable business.
The skies were painted in a dull grey that seemed to stretch out on and on, and in this case rain also meant two kids sitting in a house filled with boxes, with their noses pressed against the glass as they stared out. For some reason, the picture of them sitting there was printed into her brain- if Lyra closed her eyes now she could probably recollect the mental picture as clearly as if it was a real one. Sitting there curled up in the window still, one of those bulging outwards so it was possible to actually sit there, with Mary next to her. They looked alike, except that her cousin looked a lot cooler than her, with her black hair in a short cut barely reaching her shoulder and streaks of red falling through it. Her name didn´t fit her; Mary was a name befalling the gentle and meek, and she was none of those things.
She was one of those people who just had it; the ability to do whatever they wanted and walk away without any consequences, always knowing what to say and how to look at people to make them sigh and go ´fine, just don´t let it happen again´.
To be honest, Lyra struggled to put an age to them in that memory; to her the entire thing had an ageless haze over it. There were no numbers in a memory. That was the beauty of it. But she had seen a picture of them that summer, in a photo album hidden far away in a closet, hidden for her the times she wanted to torture herself by flicking through the pages remembering. Often she had thought of stealing that picture, but she knew that it wasn´t worth the grief if her parents found out. Maybe they liked to torment themselves as well by opening the book.
Lyra and Mary at Gareth´s house, age 8 and 12. Mary was the oldest, and with her it-factor there was no reason for her to hang out with her younger cousin, yet she never complained when Lyra tagged along, constantly walking in her footsteps. Lyra had to smile whenever she thought about it; in her childish eyes Mary was the coolest person to ever walk on this earth. Whatever she said would make her laugh, and she always found time to play with Lyra´s dumb toys or make up new games whenever they were bored.
It seemed like they sat there for hours waiting, and maybe in some way they still were. Waiting, waiting, always waiting hidden deep down in her memories. But in real life the sky cleared up, revealing a bleak and pale sun shining down at them through the clouds still lingering. The kids put on their shoes and coat and tiny hats –Lyra´s mom had insisted, because this was in the time she still cared- and ran out to the beach. Everything was wet, but it was still amazing. Mary made it amazing. As they strolled across the wet sand she talked about how it was just like a movie set.
If Lyra closed her eyes, she could still see Mary walking there beside her, with dark hair falling in her eyes from the wind. She remembered thinking that with her red jacket she seemed a bit like little Red Riding Hood, but Mare was never the helpless girl clinging on to a basket. That was Lyra, or at least in the time before she learned how to take care of herself. Mary was the wolf, fearless and brave as it strolled through the forest, making its presence known.
A single sentence comes with that memory, clear as day. I´ll miss you when I go to America. Promise to visit me sometime, Lyre?
They moved two weeks later, leaving the house on the rainy beach behind. They took the boxes with them, Mary put her red coat on once more. Then they left. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months and months to years. Four years passed, and for some reason that memory wedged itself inside her head, hiding in-between lessons learned and broken feelings in the past.
When the letter came three years ago from her mother the memory helped soften the blow of her cousin´s death. Because in her mind, Mary would always live on like that. Standing on the beach with rain in the air and hair blowing everywhere, in her red coat.
Cutting class, not something that was new for Henry. Although a hefty number of times were because of terrible migraines where every noise and light hurt. In those instances, he would get to a secluded place as quickly as he could and stay hunched in a quiet dark corner until he felt better. Fortunately, he did not have a migraine, in which case, numerous other ‘things to do when skipping’ things came into play.
"Usually? Plan a prank, annoy some people, smoke, drink, fly, lay about and play games. The works. Sometimes just gossip, because listening to rumours Atticus spreads is actually kind of amusing." That and he himself hadn’t fallen prey to any, so that was a plus.
Kind of.
Not really, it meant he got less attention. Huh, that was kind of a damper.
"Huh," Lyra said, mentally going over the activities he had just listed. They all sounded interesting enough compared to the class they had just exited, but then again watching grass grow would probably make its way above that class if she ever were to create an ultimate list with activities ranged after level of interest.
"Pranks and being an annoyance are always solid options, but right now I am trying to stay out of trouble, at least until Christmas," she said. The last thing she needed was an angry owl from the school to her parents, that would be just handing them another reason to dislike her. "I´m always up for a drink, although it is a bit early- but then again this was my last class today and I don´t have anywhere else to be. Up for a glass, or would you rather head over to the rumor mill? ´cause that also sound fun enough."
"I was thirteen and it was unfair, my grudge is completely and utterly justified." Henry left it at there, wrinkling his nose as he looked back at the sleeping Slytherin guy— he hadn’t bothered with learning his name. Learning his name implied he cared.
Preening in delight, Henry shoved all of his school supplies into his satchel - not that he had actually taken out much anyway, he knew he wouldn’t have gotten any school work done this class. Mostly just for appearances. Then lazily got up from his seat, not even paying attention to the professor. He was fairly sure said teacher would be glad to see him cutting class, anyway. He may have given them a hard time and received various detentions in return. “Milady,” he grinned as he got to her, strolling straight past. “Where to, raccoon?”
It wasn´t until that she was safe outside with the door firmly closed behind her and Henry beside that a soft rush of adrenaline decided to show up. Cutting class was nothing new for her, but there was a huge difference in turning over in bed a cold morning while mumbling ´maybe not today´ and actually walking out of a class.
Lyra felt a grin spread across her lips as she started moving once more, walking in a fast pace to catch up with Henry who had gotten slightly ahead of her during her pause. "Oh, I don´t know," she said, giving him a shrug. She really had no clue where to go now, walking out had been more of an impulse thing, and to be honest it had been between that or setting fire to a book or something in that direction. "Normally when I skip boring classes I spend the time in bed, but that´s not really an option now. What do you usually do when skipping?"
Henry scanned the room, a slow grin forming on his face as swished his quill feather over the table. “… I could grafitti their faces. The professor wouldn’t notice. That twat right there,” Henry pointed to a guy sitting a few rows away, “didn’t give me the last pudding on february the twenty second three years ago. He deserves this.” He glanced back over at the professor, then the distance between them, calculating when he would have to make his move— if it was at all, possible.
But he turned his attention back to her, and beamed innocently. “You know, you don’t need to wait until after class. We could get out of here, just stroll out of the door. We should go.”
Lyra looked over the person in question who was now sleeping peacefully with his head tucked under his arm. Then she glanced back at Henry, raising an eyebrow. "You know, I´m not entirely sure if I should be impressed or worried about your ability to hold a grudge. Although snagging the last pudding should be a punishable offense."
"Yeah, we should," she said as she moved her gaze over to the professor talking on and on about- well, she wasn´t quite sure what he was talking about at this point. He was paying about as much attention to them as they did to him, so getting out should be easy enough. It was exactly like third grade all over again, in the period where she had been obsessed with ninjas and snuck everywhere. Lyra gave Henry a grin. "Let´s do this." As quietly she could she gathered her stuff in her arms, and the second the teacher lowered his head down into his book she got up. With an excuse ready on the tip of her tongue in case her name was called out, Lyra made her way out the door and didn´t turn around until she was safe out to check if Henry had followed her.
Nodding, Scorpius placed the tip of his wand against her sleeve and muttered the spell, watching as the ink slowly pulled out of the fabric towards his wand and then disappeared entirely. He had to preform it twice to get rid of the stain, but once there was no more ink on her sleeve, Scorpius carefully put his wand up.
She watched in fascination as the stains slowly disappeared, leaving her sleeve snowy white once more. Six years and magic never ceased to fascinate her. Lyra gave the boy a grin once he put his wand away and she pulled her hand back again. "Thanks. You just saved me from washing my shirt three times to fully get rid of it."
At his question, she looked down at the book that had served as her pillow. "Not much, just potions. I´m reading about Draught of Living Death. Don´t get me wrong, it´s really fascinating, but right now I simply feel too tired to concentrate on it."
Jericho rummaged through his bag for the little vials he always kept handy. There were nights when his nightmares got the best of him. “Nothing. Just let me know if they help. I brewed them m’self and before you start worrying, I’ve taken plenty and I don’t have another head growing.”
Lyra took the vial, gently turning it over in her palm as she studied the content. If it worked, this potion would be worth its weight in gold to her. Right now she felt tired, but despite that she decided to save it up for a rainy day. After all, she didn´t have any classes left and there would most likely come a day in the future where she needed it more. "Thanks, Jericho," she said when she looked up at him, giving him a grateful smile. "I´ll let you know how it worked and if any mysterious aftereffect occurred."
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