Chapter 3: Two-FacedChapter TextHarry, Ron, and Hermione were gathered around Hagrid's table, trying once again to convince him to get rid of the dragon egg. But Hagrid seemed intent on dismissing their claims. Hermione was just about to launch into another tirade about the lunacy of keeping a dragon in a wooden hut when someone knocked on the door.
"Oh, tha' migh' be Dumbledore," said Hagrid, pushing past Hermione as though she was a ghost.
He opened the door to reveal, indeed, it was Albus Dumbledore. His eyes swept the room, crinkling with pleasure as they spotted the trio.
"Ah, it seems you have a few guests already," he said. "Good day, you three."
"Sorry, yeh three," Hagrid said. "But me an' the Professor need ter talk abou' some things."
Hermione turned to Dumbledore, ignoring him. "Professor, will you tell Hagrid not to keep a dragon egg — in his wooden home?"
What was visible of Hagrid's cheeks turned bright pink as Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"I shall see what I can do," he said, no small amount of amusement in his voice. "But yes, Hagrid and I do indeed have things to talk about — important matters."
"Yeh, there's been killin's in the fores' lately..."
"Hagrid."
"Ah, righ' — sorry, Professor," said Hagrid, turning even pinker.
"Killings?" said Harry.
"Nothing to worry about," said Dumbledore, smiling. "But we shall be off for some time now, so best get back to the castle. I do apologize about interrupting your evening."
"It's quite all right, Professor," Hermione said, seeming satisfied. "Come on, you two."
The change from Hagrid's sweltering home was a massive change from the slightly chilly early-spring evening that they stepped out into. Harry shivered for a moment as they made their way back to the castle proper. Halfway up, Harry decided to speak his mind.
"What do you think that was about?" he said. "The killings."
"Who knows," said Ron. "But it's the Forbidden Forest. Probably lots of killings in there."
Hermione made to interject, but then they heard someone from above come barrelling down toward them. Before Harry could fully register who it was, they slammed into him, sending them flying into the ground.
"Ow," whimpered Lyra Malfoy.
Harry grunted, picking himself off the ground. The collision had been hard, and he turned, finding Lyra also pulling herself to her feet. Whatever annoyance he had melted at her appearance. She had dark spots under her eyes, and her hair was a mess. And not the usual, deliberate mess she often kept it in, but in complete disarray.
"Sorry," she said distractedly, and made to leave without some cutting parting remark.
"Wait!" Hermione said, clutching her arm. "What's wrong?"
Lyra's eyes darted between the three of them, and then she glanced around, as if checking for eavesdroppers. "Have you seen James?" she asked. "This — it's important."
"No, but maybe we can help, whatever it is," Hermione said. "What's going on?"
Lyra hesitated, her hand brushing against one of her pockets seemingly subconsciously.
"I just — I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore," she said. "Professor McGonagall said he was heading this way."
"He's not there anymore," said Hermione.
"Yeah, he just went into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid," said Ron. "Those two always were a bit barmy."
This seemed to be terrible news. Lyra's eyes and mouth opened in horror, and Harry was sure she would've paled if her face wasn't red from exertion.
"He's in the Forest?" she breathed. "Fuck."
Hermione's cheek twitched but she ignored the language. "Lyra, what happened?"
"He's going after the Stone!" said Lyra, grabbing fistfuls of her hair. "God damn it, I should've known —" She trailed off, muttering to herself, looking wildly around as if Dumbledore would drop down from the sky.
Harry felt like he was being doused with cold water. Hermione's eyes widened and she let go of Lyra in her surprise.
"You know about the Stone?" Hermione whispered.
Lyra rubbed her face with her hands. "How do you two even know about it?" she said, more to herself than them. "James — damn him, the moment I need him he disappears."
"We'll help," Ron said suddenly, and Lyra's gaze snapped onto him. He squirmed a little, but didn't back down. "We have to. Otherwise… it means You-Know-Who gets the Stone, right? We need to stop Snape."
She stared at him for a long moment, her features unreadable.
Though he never wanted to ally with Lyra Malfoy... Harry found himself agreeing with Ron's sentiment. And a witch of Lyra's caliber would surely be helpful if they ever had to fight Snape. Another shot of cold ran down his spine at the thought. Snape had never liked any of his students — and he especially didn't like Harry. If Snape got the Stone and had nothing left to lose… what would he do to Harry?
"You're eleven," said Lyra finally.
"And you're thirteen," said Hermione.
"Fourteen," said Lyra, sighing and running a palm down her face again. "And it's not Snape. It's Quirrell."
"What?" said Harry, speaking up for the first time. "No, it's Snape. He cursed my broom!"
Lyra shook her head hard enough that her hair flew about. "No, Quirrell cursed your broom." And she pushed past them, walking swiftly back to the castle. They ran after her.
"But I saw him muttering something under his breath!" said Hermione, panting as she was forced to run slightly to keep up with Lyra's longer strides.
"A counter-curse," said Lyra with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"I set him on fire and it stopped!"
"And who was right behind Snape, Hermione?" said Lyra. "Look, I heard him. I heard Quirrell muttering to himself about going after the Stone. I heard him muttering about his master, the Dark Lord. No!" she snapped when all three of them opened their mouths to protest. "I didn't mishear. It's him. I'm not arguing about it. He cursed your broom. He let in that troll. It's him. God, I can't believe I didn't see it before."
The three slowed down, struggling to process this. Lyra seemed to notice and turned around, throwing her hands out in question.
"Well?"
There was a moment of silence where Harry, Ron, and Hermione traded looks. Then Hermione looked at Lyra.
"We'll come," she said in a small voice. "We'll help."
Lyra stared at them, then gave a curt nod. "Keep up, then. I won't be coming back for you if you get lost."
"What about a teacher?" said Hermione, rushing up to meet Lyra's pace again.
"Already told three," said Lyra, sounding annoyed. "None took me seriously. After all," she said mockingly, "how could poor, stuttering Quirrell be evil?"
Lyra occasionally checked some sort of map as she walked; while she seemed to be taking random turns, Harry realized they were getting closer and closer to the forbidden corridor on the third floor. It was during one of these turns that she almost walked into James Stark.
"Lyra?" James said, and he blinked as Lyra grabbed him by the wrist and began dragging him along. "What's this?"
"He's making his move," Lyra hissed. "Quirrell."
"Really?" James made a rare show of alarm. "Now?"
"Soon," she said. "In an hour or two, it sounded like. But we should get to it before him."
"I — are you sure? What about Dumbledore? Why are we taking these three?"
"They found me and I couldn't find you," said Lyra irritably. "They already knew about the Stone as well. And Dumbledore's gone into the woods for some unfathomable reason. None of the other teachers took me seriously."
James glanced at Harry, his face smoothed over once more. Harry looked away after a moment, shielding his own eyes from James' cold gaze. James turned back to Lyra.
"Still should've told them no," he said. "It won't be all sunshine and rainbows."
"Are you going to be helpful at all, James?" Lyra said, frustrated, and James went silent. "They're not completely worthless."
They arrived in front of the forbidden corridor. The door was closed, but Lyra pushed it, and it opened without needing to be unlocked. Harry felt a ball of lead forming in his stomach. Did this mean someone had already gone through? Were they too late?
Fluffy raised one of its three heads sleepily, staring at the intruders. Lyra produced a tiny harp and tossed it towards Fluffy.
"Finite Incantatem," she said with a flick of two fingers, and the tiny harp returned to its ordinary size, clanging loudly against the stone floor. The other two heads woke to the sound it made, and Lyra cast a second spell with her wand that made the harp begin playing.
Harry blinked in surprise as Fluffy's eyelids began to droop once more. It shuffled its front legs and laid its heads on top of them. The trapdoor was exposed. Lyra slowly made her way to the other end of the corridor, wary of the guard dog waking up again. When she placed her hand on the trapdoor, Fluffy still didn't wake. The harp continued to play on its own, and Lyra yanked it open.
"Hagrid said music soothes the little hellhound to sleep," said Lyra idly, looking into the hole, "but it's not all music."
"Yeah, we tested some Muggle music before," said James. "You should see what Fluffy does when you play Finnish death metal."
"And N.W.A.," said Lyra.
"What's N.W.A.?" said Ron.
Lyra opened her mouth but James elbowed her in the ribs.
"Don't say it," he said. "You're not allowed to say it."
"It means —" began Lyra, but James put his hand on her back and shoved her into the hole. She had only a split-second to yelp before she hit her head on the stone edge of the trap door and fell down silently. Hermione gasped. There was a thud below before an echoing screech reached them.
"James!" screamed Lyra. "I'm going to kill you! You cocksucking son of a —"
But then James leapt in, and there was another thud, cutting Lyra off, being likely landed on by him. Hermione made another noise of horror.
"Don't worry," said Ron. "Witches are tough." And he jumped into the hole, likely on top of James judging by the distant colorful swearing.
Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, then followed suit. They jumped more to the side, avoiding the pile of Lyra, James, and Ron, and after a frightful moment of weightless falling they landed on something soft.
"It's dark down here," Ron said, peering around.
"Lumos Maxima," James said, and a bright white light erupted from his wand. He flicked the tip of his wand, and the orb of light flew into the darkness, illuminating the room and torching the plants around them. Hermione gasped when she saw a mass of plant matter scramble back from the light, untangling itself from their limbs.
"Devil's Snare," said Lyra, getting up and hurrying toward a stone passageway.
The trio scrambled up and pulled their wands out.
"It doesn't like light or heat," Hermione said, testing the plants with a foot and then glancing at James as if for approval.
"Correct," said James. "Ten points to Gryffindor."
Though the room was dark even with James' intervention, Harry could see Hermione preen slightly.
"Come on, you four!" said Lyra from beyond the passageway, and they dashed after her. Then they heard her shout, "Accio!"
They came out of the passageway into a brightly lit chamber, where Lyra stood staring up at the high arching ceiling. There were birds flying about, dozens of them.
"They're keys," said Lyra. "I think we need one to unlock the next door." She jerked a thumb at the wall across the room, where a wooden door stood, presumably locked. "Summoning Charm doesn't work."
"Summoning Charm?" said Hermione, in a tone that suggested she had forgotten why they were down here. "I read about those. They seem very useful —"
"We'll help you with that later," said James, "but now we need to hurry."
Harry peered at the lock. A big, heavy silver lock embedded into an equally heavy-looking wooden door; he glanced up at the flying keys, many of which were gold or black, fluttering about at speed with wings of every color of the rainbow. His gaze fell to the broomsticks lying against the corner of the room.
"We're supposed to catch it," Harry said. "Like… like a snitch."
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Ron was the first to reach for a broom; James held out an arm, pausing Ron in his tracks.
James raised his wand. "Aguamenti."
It was as if a portal had opened to a raging, rushing river. Torrents of water burst into the air from nothing, twisting itself into a large sphere with the help of Lyra's wand. It grew to the size of a large pool, sucking in the flying keys as they ran out of room to fly around in.
"That's good," said Lyra, sounding as though she did this every day. "Glacius."
A pale blue light shot from her wand into the ball, turning it all into ice instantly. Then the whole thing fell, shattering against the ground and spraying chips of ice in every direction. Harry flinched, but the ice smacked against some invisible shield James had conjured.
"Don't want to give you another scar," said James. Harry smiled tightly.
Hermione stepped forward to search for the correct key amongst all that lay on the ground, unable to fly with heavy ice attached to them. Harry and Ron joined her wordlessly. Harry peered into the chunks of ice, the trapped keys distorted in shape and size. With the four of them, they quickly found the right one.
The next room lit up as soon as they stepped inside. They were at the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces.
"Looks like it's your time to shine," James said, glancing at Ron. Meanwhile, Ron looked like he had just won the Quidditch captaincy.
Lyra, always seeming one to ignore the rules, held her wand high above her head.
"Expulso!"
The door behind the white pieces shattered inward. By some unspoken command, the black pieces turned around to face them. The pawns raised their swords and shields, the knights their lances, and Harry swallowed and took a step back as the dark warriors loomed over them, casting their shadows far.
But then, as if the pieces heard something they didn't, they straightened and turned around. From beyond the door across the chessboard there came a lumbering sound, heavy and with something dragging across the stone floor.
And through the doorway, ducking to get through, came a troll.
It released an unintelligible roar that nonetheless had the room shake and the five of them pinching their noses. Some of the white pieces rallied and made to attack the troll; its tough hide reduced even the most damaging strikes to nothing more than scrapes and nicks on its skin. Its club was as large as the pawns entirely, and the pieces were thrown aside with its swipes — though not broken.
Harry's head was forced down by James, who cast a shield charm in front of them, blocking a pawn. The shield shattered like golden glass, though thankfully the projectile had been robbed of its momentum.
"Jesus," James muttered. "Shall we go around him?"
"Wow, your Shield Charms are terrible," said Lyra.
"Fuck off," James grumbled. "I didn't have time to brace."
Lyra flicked her wand as a queen went flying right toward her head. James tackled her to the ground just in time to avoid the piece utterly obliterating her face as it shattered right through her shield.
"What the hell?" she said, spitting hair out of her mouth.
"The pieces are reinforced with magic," said James.
"Right," grumbled Lyra, picking herself up and being forced to drop again as a knight skipped across the floor and just barely over her, smashing into the wall with a tremendous bang. "Didn't take that into account. It's probably McGonagall's magic too."
"Come on, little ones," James said, ushering Ron and Hermione forward. "No time to be standing around frozen in mortal terror."
"Can't you do something about the troll?" Harry gasped, ducking behind a stone pillar for his protection.
"Sure, but we're lucky the troll and the chessmen seem to be infatuated with each other," James said. "If we can go through and lock the door behind us, then we'd have killed two birds with one stone."
"God, I'm a genius," said Lyra, and with a leap she sprinted toward the other side, throwing up Shield Charms and using Banishing Charms against the pieces. Then she shot a red jet of light at the troll's face, seemingly blinding it for a moment as she slid between its legs and to the door.
James waited a moment until the troll smacked a few more chess pieces around to shove Harry forward. A black pawn picked itself up and threw itself in Harry's direction but James cast a triple-layered shield over him that managed to deflect it. Harry managed to get through the doorway — after he made it through, Hermione and Ron crashed into his back. James was the last in, and he immediately turned the doorway into smooth stone.
"Lyra," said James, brushing some dust from his sleeves, "you are an idiot."
"Genius," repeated Lyra, panting and smiling. "Do you know how long a chess game would've lasted?"
"With this kid, not that long," James said, clamping his hand on Ron's shoulder. Ron started at that. "Fred and George like to wax poetry about his prodigal talent."
Harry saw Ron's expression become one of pleasant surprise, and no small amount of pride.
Lyra waved a hand. "I'm better."
"We can figure that out later," said James, nodding toward the other end of the passageway.
The next room was empty, the troll having left it; the only thing left was a horrid smell. They moved swiftly through and into the next room, where there was only a table with seven differently shaped bottles upon it. A parchment lay there too. As soon as they stepped fully through, flames sprung up at both entrance and exit.
"This is definitely Snape's handwriting," James said, poking the parchment with his wand. "He's written so many scathing reviews on my essays that I'd recognize it anywhere."
"Really?" said Lyra. "He's never left anything like that on mine." She gave a small self-satisfied smirk.
"That's because he's still lusting after your mother," James said dismissively. Ron gagged.
The smirk vanished. She snatched the parchment and read it. "Blah blah blah, three will kill us, blah blah blah, neither at the ends will get us through — this is dumb. And easy. It's the smallest vial."
Hermione grabbed the parchment next and scanned it quickly. It took her a moment, but she eventually agreed with Lyra.
"But there's only enough for one of us," said Harry.
"Two," said Lyra, pulling out a similar vial from a pocket. "I always knew this Anti-Flame Potion would come in useful."
"What," James said flatly.
Lyra uncorked it and downed it, looking at him. "What?" she said after she swallowed.
"You didn't bring any for the rest of us?" asked Ron.
"Why would I?"
"Why do you even have an Anti-Flame Potion in your pocket?" said James.
"Why do you not?"
James sighed, palming his face. "Guess the other potion is for you, Chosen One," James said, nudging Harry in that direction. "Remember, if you encounter the Quirrell, you don't need to be faster than him. You just need to be faster than Lyra. Blow out her kneecaps."
"Why Harry?" Hermione interjected, and James froze. "Wouldn't it be better if you went?"
"The… cloak?" James said. He turned to Harry. "You have it, don't you?"
"No?" said Harry.
"You take that shit everywhere," James said incredulously. "And the one time you don't have it is when we might be going up against some deranged motherfucker?"
"James," Hermione said, frowning.
"It honestly doesn't matter," said Lyra, picking up the right vial from the table and holding it up. "Who's going with? James should stay here to guard the entrance." The trio traded glances. "Fine," she sighed. "I'll go by myself."
"No!" said Harry suddenly. "I'll go."
"Harry — are you sure?" said Hermione.
"Yeah, mate, it'll be dangerous... And — you know..." Ron glanced at Lyra with the subtlety of an explosive spell.
"Yeah," said Lyra, "this might all be a plan for me to get you alone so I can kill you and steal the Philosopher's Stone for myself."
"She is the kind of person to do that," James said.
"We're wasting time!" said Lyra. "I'm going with James or one of you three." She gestured at the trio, annoyed. "You can stay here to guard the way and maybe find yourself against a grown dark wizard — or you can have James —"
"I'll go," said Harry again, more resolutely this time. "I'll come with."
Lyra tossed him the vial before he finished speaking. He opened it, traded one last look with Hermione and Ron, both of whom gave him uneasy smiles, and drank it all. It went like ice down his throat.
Together, he and Lyra walked through the fire.
"Lyra," James called. She wasn't in the library, or the kitchens, or the Quidditch grounds. He had saved his search of the Ravenclaw common room for last, fully intent on abandoning his search if he didn't find her here either. He halfheartedly glanced underneath tables and behind armchairs and occasionally underneath the pillows that littered the worn sofas.
Was she in the girls' dorms? James scowled. Lyra being allowed in his room and him not being allowed in hers was the height of unfairness. If Lyra was permitted to ogle Larissa Morgan in seventh year, then he should be too. James paused in his tracks and contemplated going back to the kitchens. Thinking about melons had made him start craving one.
And it was as soon as he stepped out the portrait that he ran into Lyra, who was holding the Marauder's Map.
"James!" she said, a suppressed grin on her face. She seemed downright jubilant, though hesitant in expressing it.
"Lyra," he said. "Did Roger Davies slip and fall on the Great Staircase somewhere and break his neck?"
"What? Why?" she said, with a bit too much excitement. "Did you hear that from someone?"
James raised an eyebrow. "No, you're just happy about something — but you know people are going to judge you for it."
Lyra's grin wavered again. "Ha," she said uneasily. "You know me too well."
James began walking in the direction of the kitchens. "You really need to get over your little rivalry with Roger. Both of you are ridiculously childish when it comes to each other."
Lyra ignored him and glanced at the Marauder's Map. "Did Dumbledore talk to you already about our little adventure?"
"I did," James said.
"Probably looked through your mind?"
"How should I know?" James thought about it for a moment. "Probably, yeah."
"Good." Then she grabbed his arm and dragged him to where the Room of Requirement was hidden. After she paced three times in front of it, and ignored his questions, the Room was revealed. She nearly threw him inside in her haste. The area within was small and cozy, with two couches and a fireplace and absolutely nowhere for someone to hide to overhear them.
Lyra quickly sat down on the couch and turned her eyes to him. They shone with unholy glee.
"Guess what I have?"
"I don't think I want to know," said James slowly, sitting down on the couch opposite of her.
Lyra reached into her robes... James grimaced, wondering what stupid thing she had done... And then she opened her hand, revealing a small, red stone, glinting slightly from the sunlight pouring in from the windows. James' eyes widened as he realized what it was.
"I don't even understand the appeal of the Stone," said Lyra as she and Harry walked down the stairs to the Mirror of Erised. "I'm not sure I want to live one century, much less six. Really, if Quirrell finds us and kills us, I don't think I'd even care."
"I wish you would," Harry muttered. He was probably bemoaning the fact that he hadn't taken James instead. If only he knew James was just as morbid in the company of those that could actually appreciate dark humor. Charlie Weasley had been a pleasant surprise; but in hindsight, it would take a certain amount of suicidal stupidity to try and tame dragons for a living.
Well, that was okay. Lyra didn't mean it anyway. It was highly unlikely the Quirrell would reach the two of them in time to retrieve the stone — if he even knew it was being taken. Right now he'd be sipping tea in the least reputable tea house in Knockturn Alley waiting for a self-proclaimed 'friend' who would never come.
Her own doing, of course.
And maybe Dumbledore would be heading back into the castle soon but she reckoned she still had more time. She had, after all, convinced Hagrid to ask for a very thorough investigation into the murdered unicorns. It could be the acromantula, after all, and it wasn't Lyra's fault that acromantula loved inflating their conversations with threats of turning you into dinner for their young. The centaurs might know something, but again, it wasn't Lyra's fault that centaurs loved bloating their discussions with cryptic hints and clues that ultimately led nowhere.
"The Mirror of Erised," said Lyra as she came up to it. She made a show of pacing around it, examining it from various angles. "Dumbledore probably stuck it in here. Can you see it anywhere?"
Harry frowned as he examined the Mirror himself. He brushed his fingers against the back of it, finding nothing, and moved onto the edges. It took too long for Lyra to be comfortable. Dumbledore could be on his way soon.
"It would be just like Dumbledore's style to trap the stone in the Mirror itself," she said, taking a couple of steps back, ignoring her reflection sipping chilled drinks on a beach beside a beautiful woman. "You see anything?"
Harry stared intensely at the mirror. "I still see my parents…"
"None of them are holding a pretty red rock?" said Lyra carefully, her heart pounding. "If we can't retrieve it now…"
"Quirrell gets the Stone," Harry said. "Voldemort comes back."
Lyra put a hand on his shoulder. "We won't let that happen. Getting the Stone is easiest, but we can't, we'll either shatter the Mirror or bring it back upstairs to Dumbledore's office."
Harry nodded, brushing his fingers against the surface of the polished glass. Then his eyes widened, and he failed to entirely hide his gasp. Lyra raised her eyebrows, trying desperately to hold back her triumph. Harry thrust his hand into his trouser pocket, and his hand re-emerged with a red stone about half the size of her fist.
Her mouth became dry. Years of anticipation and here it was at last, the Philosopher's Stone, the end of her deathly fears.
"Wow," Harry said, admiring the way it glittered.
"I hope that's the real one," said Lyra, "and the Mirror didn't give us some fake."
"How do we know?"
"No clue. Here, let me see."
Harry passed it to her with more trust than she expected, given his earlier suspicions.
Her fingers pressed against every crack and chip on the Stone. It was a bit duller than she expected, though it did sparkle with the correct angle of light. It felt rough to her fingertips, and to her surprise, warm. She memorized every aspect of it, pounding it into her mind.
"Lyra?"
Lyra wordlessly passed it back to Harry, who took it, relieved.
"I think that's it," she said. "Let's hope so, anyway." She smiled at him. "C'mon, Harry, let's head back and get out of here. I'm exhausted. You, James, and your friends can take the Stone up to Professor Dumbledore's office. I'm taking a nap."
Harry gave a small laugh and nodded.
Lyra walked behind him as they made their way back. And her hand slipped inside her robe, plucking out another Philosopher's Stone.
It was much more polished than the one Harry held now. Yet, it did not produce the Elixir of Life, nor did it transmute metal into gold. She dragged the tip of her wand against its surface, mimicking the real Stone's rough qualities, the imperfect cuts and dullness, its dimensions, its approximate weight.
Satisfied, she tucked the false Stone back into her robes, just in time to regroup with Ron, Hermione, and James. This would be perhaps the most difficult part.
"We should try to get out before Quirrell traps us in," she said.
James — poor James — nodded in agreement and they set off. He was going to be furious if she carried out the last step of her plan (which she most certainly would). He trusted Dumbledore a bit too much for her liking. Sure, she trusted Dumbledore as well, but she did not trust him to act in her best interests.
Dumbledore was a good man, but he was far too self-restrictive in his pursuit of justice and virtue; and perhaps he would impose his limitations on her, too. She didn't know, and she didn't think it was worth the risk of finding out. He had his history with Grindelwald and Voldemort, and that would be enough to make anyone wary of ambitions like hers. She couldn't blame him, really.
But she had been dropped into this world by some cosmic miracle, and she'd be damned if it was just to get some good grades and live a normal magical life. She had lost all her friends and family. It had to be for something more.
"Oh, look, the troll seems to be losing," James said as they made their way around the edge of the chess room. Indeed, the troll was weakened by hundreds of cuts and stab wounds made by the stone swords and lances carried by the chess pieces. In comparison, the enchanted pieces were apparently indestructible. The furious roars of the trolls were quieter, and when it batted a piece away, it did not fly as far as it had on their previous encounter.
"I hope Fluffy is still asleep," Hermione said nervously.
Lyra patted her shoulder and gave a comforting smile, and Hermione returned it. She felt a little bad about this all, but she had no intention of telling Hermione her plan, no matter how much Lyra liked her. At her very core, at least now, Hermione worshipped authority — and in turn, Dumbledore. She needed a taste of reality first, of the incompetence of leaders, muggle and magical.
Lyra hopped over the puddles made of melted ice in the key room, and James reignited his wand in the Devil's Snare room. They stared up at the square hole in the ceiling from which they could see light and hear light plucking of the harp and triplet heads snoring.
Lyra raised her wand, conjuring a rope ladder. She cast a Banishing Charm and Sticking Charm in rapid succession to glue the ladder to the trapdoor.
"After you, James," said Lyra, standing back and gesturing for him.
"Why me? I'd rather you deal with Fluffy on the possibility that he wakes up," James said.
"If I went before you, how can I trust that you won't look up my robes?"
James looked her up and down. "You're wearing jeans."
"Just go!" said Lyra. "We don't have time for this."
James grumbled as he began climbing the ladder. "As if I'd want to see skidmarks..."
Asshole.
Ron went next, as she'd hoped, and then Harry. James had just pulled Ron up the last few rungs, Hermione had taken her first step onto the ladder, and Harry was about halfway up. Lyra ignored the blood rushing through her ears as she discreetly palmed her wand.
In one moment, less than a split-second, the false Stone in her pocket and the real Stone in Harry's vanished from reality, and then they reappeared, occupying each other's places. As the real Stone settled in her pocket, warm and its magic thrumming, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
The Philosopher's Stone was hers.
Her muscles remained tense throughout the rest of it, as they closed the trapdoor, as they vanished the harp and locked the door behind them, as the trio fled to notify Dumbledore. She was expecting something to go wrong.
James twisted his neck and moaned in satisfaction as his joints popped.
"I guess we won," he said, and smiled at Lyra. "We did good work."
Lyra squashed the guilt that bubbled up, but he held out a fist and she bumped it.
"What now?" he said.
"I've got a nap to take," said Lyra, "and then stuff to do after."
James nodded. It was a display of trust which, once again, caused Lyra to feel some guilt at abusing it.
"Dumbledore might want to talk to us," she also said, needing to fully complete the plan, to make sure none of it could be traced back to her. "Can you do the talking, assuming I'm not finished by the time he comes? He might read a mind or two and you know how I feel about that."
"Sure," said James, shrugging. "I'll see you later, then?"
"Yeah," Lyra said with a smile, allowing some of her triumph to shine through. "You will."
James looked to be struggling for words.
"So, Quirrell —?"
"I sent him a letter to get him out of the castle," said Lyra, the Stone clutched in her hands as she sat rigidly on the couch in the Room of Requirement, ready to defend herself. "I thought about just telling him I knew about Voldemort, but that would've just sent him fleeing. So I told him to meet 'me,' a servant of the Dark Lord, in Knockturn Alley." She couldn't stop the smug smile this time. "Now he'll probably come back only to find Dumbledore's wand between his eyes."
James continued to stare at her, his face nearly unreadable. He was certainly angry to a degree, but she didn't think he was furious. She just hoped he wasn't hurt.
"I wanted to tell you," she said, hopping up from the couch. "But there was the chance of Dumbledore wanting to read one of our mind's — so if you didn't know, and he was satisfied with just your mind, then I'd be in the clear." Her smile began to die when he said nothing. "It's the Stone, man! The Flamels would destroy it anyway — what's the harm in taking it for ourselves? Ourselves, not just me. You can have centuries of adventures!"
James sighed and rubbed his eyes hard. He looked up at her, looking both disappointed and defeated. "I should learn the Patronus Charm really soon, shouldn't I?"
"A band-aid solution," said Lyra dismissively. "That's always been your problem. Why learn the Patronus to fend off dementors when you could learn the Animagus transformation and simply escape Azkaban? Why rush to do all these things you want to do, when" — she held up the Philosopher's Stone with what she hoped was a winning look — "you can just live to a thousand and do things at your own pace?"
James shook his head, not at all as amused as she had hoped.
"Any other criminal acts you want to spring with your unwitting associate?" he said, then paused to consider his statement. "I guess it would defeat the purpose if I knew."
Lyra winced. James didn't like to yell or tell people off, but his passive-aggressiveness was a warning sign.
"Dobby?" she said with a nervous laugh. Dobby the house-elf popped up beside her and she shoved the Philosopher's Stone in his hands. "Go — uh — put it in the safe spot I told you about."
"Yes, Miss Malfoy, ma'am!" said Dobby, bouncing on his heels as he took the Stone and popped away.
Lyra turned back to James. "We're about to have a really big fight, aren't we?"
"What's done is done," said James, sighing. "It doesn't change anything by me yelling at you for your stupidity. And, well, can you honestly say that you wouldn't do anything like this again?"
Lyra gave another uneasy laugh. "I'm a terrible person, aren't I?"
"Most would describe you as a bit of an asshole, yes." James smiled then, although it didn't completely hide the grimace beneath. "It's all right. You're my friend. And I'll be here to stop you doing the really stupid stuff — snorting Cornish pixie dust, things like that." He paused, frowning when he took in her guilty expression. "You snorted Cornish pixie dust, didn't you?"
"I'm pretty sure stealing the Philosopher's Stone is way worse than snorting a very small line of pixie dust."
"The Philosopher's Stone doesn't try to kill you."
"Which is exactly why I stole it!" said Lyra. "The pixie dust shortened my lifespan, therefore —"
"No," said James, placing his head in his hands. "I know you're trying to run around in circles to try and lose me again." He looked back up. "What's your endgame, Lyra? What is the Stone for?"
"Eternal youth," she said simply. "I don't want to be immortal, but I don't want to grow old either. I guess it's both a vanity thing and that I just want to see where humanity goes. I want to explore the stars, visit other planets, maybe meet aliens — I don't know, I just don't think two centuries is enough." She shrugged. "Maybe I'll change my mind in a hundred years."
James sighed for the third time.
"Don't you want to be known as the five-hundred-year-old adventurer of the galaxy?" said Lyra, sliding up to him and poking him in the shoulder with a smile. "James Stark, a name known all throughout the universe."
"Do you?" he said with raised eyebrows. "Lyra Malfoy, Empress of the Milky Way?"
"Of course," she said, almost offended. "You know how big my ego is. Though I hope it'll be Lyra Delacour by then."
"You don't like the Malfoy name?" said James. "How are you supposed to tell people 'do you know who I am?' with that attitude?"
Lyra shrugged. "Mum is great. And dad is all right. I think I've softened him over the years. But the Malfoy name is still — well, not great. I think even Lyra Black would come across better to people — especially when Sirius recovers. Weird to think Sirius is like my uncle. Or cousin."
"Yeah, you two are related," James said thoughtfully. "Surely Mungo's will let him out soon, right?"
"I hope so," said Lyra, flopping back down on her couch. "If they don't, you think we should visit Harry? The Dursleys will sort of starve him this summer."
"Oh, absolutely. I've always enjoyed whale watching. We can bring him food while we're at it. Actual food, I mean, not the garbage they like to pretend is edible in this country."
"I'm gonna bully Dudley."
"You're mentally a grown up and you're going to pick on some kid?"
"Gonna kick his teeth in."
"...That does sound like fun."