"Polite boys don't write three-page letters," Daphne muttered.
"Or draw your initials in the corner," Pansy added.
Across the room, Harry was watching.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to.
He scowled into his porridge instead.
Draco clocked it instantly.
"Potter's glaring again," he muttered to Blaise.
"Hasn't stopped."
"Thinks he's subtle."
"Bless him."
-
Classes resumed the following day with their usual chaos—moving staircases, distracted portraits, first-years crying near lavatories—and Lyra fell into rhythm as if she'd never left. Her steps were precise. Her gaze, dismissive. Her comments, sharp-edged and sugar-coated.
But there was something different.
Harry Potter, for one.
He sat closer in classes now.
Not beside her — never beside her. But nearer. Like he was choosing seats not just for strategy, but for angles. For visibility.
And she noticed.
It wasn't new. He had been staring since their first year. But the difference now was in how he held it . She started noticing when he shifted forward in his chair. When his quill scratched just slower than necessary. When his elbow lingered on the desk, fingers tapping—tap, tap, tap—as if trying to lure her into a glance.
She didn't oblige.
But she noticed.
In Defence, he answered with sharp timing, glancing her way before he spoke. In Charms, he smirked when she corrected a footnote. In Potions, he took the spot behind her. Again.
She let it happen. She ignored him. Mostly.
Until Thursday.
In Charms, Flitwick gave them a paired exercise.
Lyra turned to pair with Blaise—only to find Potter already beside her desk, arms folded, grinning like a boy who absolutely knew what he was doing.
"Fancy seeing you here," he said.
Her lips parted. "You're not assigned here."
"Nope," he said. "Volunteered."
"For what?"
"For the educational opportunity of working with someone more brilliant than me."
She raised a brow. "Daphne was taken?"
"You wound me."
He dropped into the seat beside her, slouching just enough to look casual—just enough to look placed. Like a painting someone had moved three inches to the left for effect.
She said nothing.
But her lips twitched.
He noticed.
"You didn't roll your eyes," he said.
"I blinked slowly in disappointment."
"Same thing."
Lyra returned to her notes. "Do you actually want to practice this charm?"
Harry leaned in slightly. "I'd rather you hex me. It'd be faster."
YOU ARE READING
firecracker ???
FanfictionElestara Lyra Black was everything a proper pureblood girl should be: elegant, cunning, coldly brilliant, and thoroughly unimpressed by fame or foolishness. She walked like a queen-in-waiting and proudly bore her mother's maiden name. On top of that...
