firecracker ???

The weeks after the holidays passed in a haze of regulation and rebellion.

Umbridge's hold on the school had tightened with cruel efficiency. Her new Educational Decrees seemed to appear overnight, stapled to the hallway boards in glinting pink parchment. No clubs. No gatherings. No dissent.

Lyra read each one with a carefully blank expression. Draco rolled his eyes dramatically and made a game of memorizing them, quoting them at meals in a perfect imitation of her syrupy voice. Their flattery campaign was well underway—tedious, performative, but effective. Umbridge adored them.

Elestara loathed every moment.

Draco and Lyra spent patrol after patrol wandering corridors with Inquisitorial Squad badges pinned like poisoned pearls. She rarely used her authority, preferring silence to confrontation. Draco, on the other hand, relished deducting points from Gryffindor—though even he started to tire of the act as the weeks stretched on.

Harry, meanwhile, threw himself deeper into the DA.

He trained students in secret, his confidence growing with every session. He moved like someone who had found purpose again and the others followed him—especially Ginny, Neville, and Luna. Hermione kept everything organized. Ron watched Harry like he was trying to memorize every step.

But Lyra still haunted him.

She hadn't kissed him again.

They hadn't even talked about it. Every time they passed in the corridor, she would glance at him with that maddening calm, like nothing had changed. But it had. He knew it. She knew it.

He caught her alone one evening after a late patrol. She was examining a notice pinned to the wall—another new rule, something about proper uniform conduct. Her brow was slightly furrowed.

He stepped up beside her without a word.

She didn't flinch.

"Merlin, she's really losing it now," Harry muttered.

Lyra didn't look at him. "She never had it to begin with."

He smiled. "Miss me?"

"No," she said. "I've been far too busy deducting house points and charming tyrants."

Harry leaned closer. "That a yes?"

She glanced at him then. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Potter."

But she didn't walk away.

"I've been thinking," he said.

She raised a brow. "That's dangerous."

"I've been thinking," he repeated, unfazed, "about you."

Her eyes flickered. "And?"

"I like you."

"Of course you do."

"I mean it," he said, this time quieter.

She stared at him. "You don't even know what it means to like someone. You're impulsive. You jump in and expect people to catch you."

Harry tilted his head. "That's rich coming from someone who kissed me and bolted."

A pause.

Her cheeks coloured. "I panicked."

"You kissed me back."

"You kissed me first."

"Don't deny it," he said, stepping just a fraction closer. 

Lyra looked away. "We're not doing this here."

"When, then?"

She didn't answer.