Chapter 4: Enemies of the Heir, BewareChapter TextSummer of 1992
Narcissa never would have thought she'd be here, shopping with her daughter and her daughter's muggle-born best friend. And being fine with it. Truly, it was a relief that Bella remained in Azkaban. She would hate to have to kill her own sister.
As it was, she might have to defend her daughter down here, in Knockturn Alley. She didn't know how Lyra kept convincing her to do such things as this. Lucius wanted something with Borgin, but what could Lyra and James possibly want down here? She sniffed as a hag slunk back into the shadows after being subjected to Narcissa's arctic glare.
The rabble here was no match for her, but the children were a bit more vulnerable, despite being highly skilled for their ages — and, in her mind, they were naive. This place was dangerous. Even the tinkling bell above the doorway managed to sound disturbing.
"Ah, Mrs. Malfoy," said the slimy voice of Borgin. Narcissa spared him a glance. "Welcome to my humble store. Is there anything I might interest you in? Perhaps your lovely children?"
"Lovely child," she said, "and her friend."
"Of course. My apologies, Mrs. Malfoy."
"Your apology is noted."
She walked several paces behind Lyra and James, who were examining a large, bland cabinet at the back of the room. She heard Borgin's shuffling steps and she turned sharply, aiming a cold gaze in his direction until he got the hint and moved away.
"What is it you wanted here, Lyra?" she said.
Lyra was about to respond, but she noticed something, and swung the doors of the cabinet open. A young boy was sitting in the cabinet, covered in soot, his eyes wide behind his oversized glasses. The three of them stared at him.
"Is he for sale as well?" James asked.
"What have we here?" said Borgin. Was he trying to annoy Narcissa Malfoy with his nasally voice? "Some sneak, a thief, seeking a trophy from my store?"
"No, Borgin," Narcissa said coldly. "He likely got lost in Knockturn and seeked refuge from unsavory individuals." Her tone made clear just exactly who fell under this category. "It is a dangerous place for children, after all." The last part was aimed not-so-subtly at her daughter and her friend.
"Of course," Borgin said, his tone bitter. "Forgive me."
Narcissa ignored him entirely this time, studying the young boy with glasses, who climbed out with some relief. He looked awfully familiar… though his features were covered in soot. James offered him a tissue, and he wiped his face with it, and when his bangs were brushed away, Narcissa thought she saw something she recognized.
"Hey there, Harry," said Lyra, not bothering with subtleties.
Narcissa hid a smile as she appraised Harry Potter. By all reports, Draco had imprinted a rather unflattering image of the Malfoys onto him. Not even during the school year, but on the damned Hogwarts Express. Thankfully, Lyra had been able to salvage that a little.
"Hey, Lyra," said Harry. "And James. And…"
"Narcissa Malfoy," said Narcissa with a small, polite smile. It wouldn't be good to talk to Borgin about selling dark artifacts now, not with Harry Potter here.
"Lyra's mum," said Harry, his wariness undisguised. He shook her hand nonetheless. At least he was polite, or trying to be.
"Can we sell him on the black market?" said Lyra, tugging Narcissa's sleeve.
"How much do kidneys go for in the magical world?" James asked. "He has two, he can afford to lose one."
"Let's not sell Harry Potter's organs," Narcissa sighed. Harry smiled. "Even if they are in high demand." His smile fell.
"We can sell him to Borgin in return for the cabinet," James said.
Narcissa was a little dirturbed by the thought that Borgin would almost certainly agree to a trade like that.
"You know," said Lyra quietly to her, "I'm pretty sure this cabinet has a twin in Hogwarts. It's the same style, with the same runes inscribed on it. If we put this one at home, I could visit more often."
Narcissa smiled at her daughter. "That's very sweet of you."
"And I can visit more often as well," said James. "I'm your favorite houseguest, aren't I, Mrs. Malfoy?"
"You've grown on me," said Narcissa without a touch of sincerity, but then a hint of a smile appeared at the edge of her lips. It was as true as it was absurd. He was certainly better than the Parkinsons. "Very well, Lyra. We shall purchase the cabinet, ugly monstrosity that it is." She turned to Borgin, who had crept back to his counter to do whatever work. "Borgin, this cabinet if you would. Fifty galleons, and no more."
"Ah, but I couldn't sell it for less than seventy," Borgin said apologetically. "I'd be losing money elsewise."
"Borgin," said James slowly, as if he was an idiot, "this is supposed to be one of a pair of vanishing cabinets. The other could be on Mars for all we know. On the active end of a volcano. Why would anyone buy it off you not knowing where the other one is?"
"Then why would you want it?" said Borgin, sneering.
"He doesn't," said Lyra. "I do. It's a project for school."
"Fifty galleons," said Narcissa. "Do not test my patience, nor my generosity."
Borgin stared, then nodded jerkily. Ordinarily, Narcissa would not bother to count her coins too closely, for it did not pain her to part her with an extra couple of coins. However, Borgin was not one she cared to be generous with, and he was handed an even fifty galleons.
"If only you didn't accidentally free Dobby," murmured Narcissa, putting her coin bag back into her robes. "You can't just buy house-elves on the market, you know."
Lyra gave a sheepish smile, and James snorted.
"Have this delivered, Borgin," said Narcissa. "I shall pay for delivery upon arrival."
"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy," Borgin said, baring his teeth.
"Come," Narcissa all but commanded the children. She briefly remembered she had an extra when she held the door open and three kids walked past her. "Did you come to Knockturn Alley alone, Harry?"
"No," Harry said, turning slightly red. "I — er — mispronounced 'Diagon Alley' in the Floo."
"Ah," said Narcissa. "Yes, Lyra's done that a few times. Though I suspect it is always done on purpose."
"Tell him about the time she tried to visit her relatives in France," said James, "and got the police called on her for breaking into an old biddy's house in Yorkshire."
"We do not have relatives in France," said Narcissa, frowning. "Lyra, who did you try to visit?"
Lyra blushed. "No one."
James barked out a laugh. "Oh, my apologies. I meant to say future relatives."
Lyra threw up her hands and turned away to walk back to Diagon Alley. Narcissa followed her, bringing James and Harry with.
"Oh, Lyra," sighed Narcissa. "Why must it be a Frenchwoman? I would accept a German, even, although I would prefer a Briton, but why must they be French?"
Lyra threw a sharp look back at her. "French women are magnifique."
"They have no sensibilities," said Narcissa, waving a disdainful hand. "And when did you ever learn French?"
"In a past life," said Lyra nonchalantly.
Narcissa hummed. Lyra did like to bring up the topic of her 'past life' quite often. How did she learn French? Past life. How did she know her brother's name before he was born? Past life. How did she know where Lucius had hidden his firewhiskey? Also past life.
She suspected Lyra had some gift for divination.
"Let's get out of this place," she said, urging James and Harry faster. "We're going to meet with Lucius and Draco soon."
Narcissa pretended not to notice Harry pulling a face, nor the expression of dark anticipation on James'.
The change from dark and brooding to bright and warm was quite abrupt. Saturated magic could and would manipulate the environment it was in, and few examples were as stark as the difference between Diagon and Knockturn.
"Harry!" a voice called, and Narcissa traced it back to a bushy-haired girl waving with both arms from the top of the steps at Gringotts. "Harry! Over here!"
Harry sported a bright grin as the girl rushed down, stumbling to a halt in front of him. "Oh, dear, what's happened to your glasses? Anyway, hello, Lyra, James, and…"
"She's my mum," said Lyra.
"Oh. Hello, Mrs. Malfoy," she said. Narcissa smiled and inclined her head. "I'm Hermione Granger."
"Muggle-born?" Narcissa inquired, recalling a certain Hector Dagworth-Granger several centuries ago.
"Um, yes," Hermione said warily. Narcissa frowned internally; Draco took a little too much after his own father, it seemed, if he was going around insulting mudbloods to their faces, rather than behind their backs.
"Ah. Pleasure to meet you, Hermione. I believe my daughter has told me of you," Narcissa said, adopting a kind smile. Hermione relaxed slightly, nodded, and turned to Harry.
"So, Harry, are you coming to Gringotts?"
"As soon as I find the Weasleys," Harry said, and Narcissa raised an eyebrow. Yes, that would make sense. Draco had complained that Harry Potter had befriended the youngest of the Weasleys somehow. He must have come with the Weasleys, elsewise he would not have access to the Floo. "Do you know where they are?"
"Right behind you," Hermione said with a grin. Narcissa turned around with the kids and saw the Weasley patriarch running red-faced in their direction, along with a few of his fiery spawn. Seeing Narcissa Malfoy, the relieved expression on Arthur Weasley's face curdled.
"Hello, Arthur," shesaid mildly. "Were you looking for Harry Potter?"
"Why, yes, I was," Arthur said. "I wonder where you found him."
"In the heart of Knockturn Alley," Narcissa said. "Hiding in a cabinet in Borgin and Burkes… rather irresponsible of you to let him go alone."
Weasley's face turned as red as his hair. "And I'm sure you had the best of intentions going into Knockturn yourself," he said. "Getting rid of evidence, perhaps?"
"No, we already did that a month ago," said Lyra, giving a genuine smile. "Hey, Mr. Weasley."
"Oh, hello, dear," said Arthur, his tone immediately softening.
"We have something for you," James said, pulling a wrapped box from his backpack. "Here you go. As a thank-you to hosting us a few weeks ago."
"Oh! But you didn't have to..." Arthur looked pleased nonetheless. He tore off the wrapping paper, his eyes going wide. He embraced the two children, carefully holding the box containing a model Space Shuttle away so that he wouldn't crush it.
"You were in their — home?" said Narcissa, not having known this, but Lyra brushed her off with a wave.
"Oh yes," Arthur said with a sharp smile. "Such well-behaved children. I'd love to know the name of the nanny you hired, Narcissa."
"I raise my children myself, thank you," Narcissa said, heat leaking into her voice.
"Oh," said Arthur, seeming honestly surprised. Narcissa scowled. "I didn't take you for the motherly type."
"She's very motherly," said Lyra, sounding hurt.
"Oh, I didn't…" Arthur looked uncomfortable now.
Narcissa took a deep breath, resisting the urge to palm her wand and strike the impertinent Weasley down there and then. "Well?" she snapped, perhaps more sharply than she'd have liked. "Leave, Arthur. You'll find nothing at Gringotts — I doubt your credit rating holds up for another loan."
"Mum!" said Lyra, sounding even more hurt now. Percy's jaw had fallen to the ground, amazed that Narcissa had even said such a thing.
"You guys are so cute together," James said, clapping his hands together. "Maybe the two of you should have married instead."
Arthur and Narcissa both glared at him, their feud almost immediately forgotten. James, for his part, smirked in a self-satisfied way.
"Come, Lyra." Narcissa sniffed, pretending James suddenly ceased existing. "After you made me buy that truly hideous piece of furniture, I'll have to withdraw some money for your school supplies." She turned and walked away.
But Lyra didn't come after her.
Narcissa turned around. "Lyra? Come, dear."
Her only reply was a glare.
Some worry wormed its way into her heart. "Dear?"
"I'll meet up with you later," said Lyra darkly, and she turned away from her mother and walked away from them all.
Narcissa chewed the inside of her cheek, as she had done as a child when she was upset. She glanced at James for guidance, who looked as surprised as she felt. He and the Weasley twins shared looks, before taking off after her daughter. A significant part of her longed to follow them, but in the end, her indecision rooted her to the ground, watching their backs disappear into the crowds.
She ignored the Weasleys and the bewildered Grangers with whatever she had left of her dignity and went to conduct her Gringotts business in silence. All the time, however, her mind lingered on her daughter, wherever she was by now. It felt terribly lonely. Lyra and her had gone together for her school shopping for the three years prior, and now, she was doing it alone.
She went about the list methodically, never thinking too much. She left the bookstore for last, knowing it would be Lyra's favorite destination, and hoping that perhaps she would return before Narcissa finished her shopping. Pausing in front of a store selling quills and other stationery, she stared at the eagle-feather quill, shining gold from the flickering candlelight, and wondered if Lyra would like that.
No, she complained about having to use 'feather dusters' for writing often enough. She preferred pens. Perhaps the goldsmith would be willing to make something of the sort? Engraved with her favorite flowers, or animals, perhaps. Unlike with Draco, Narcissa couldn't just slap the Malfoy coat of arms onto something and present it to her.
Narcissa continued to stare at the quill for a very, very long time. Then all the noise around her vanished, as if a silencing spell had been placed. Her daughter's voice spoke up behind her before she could turn around.
"I just don't understand why you can't be nicer."
Narcissa turned, finding Lyra standing several paces from her. Close enough she could see the glistening in her daughter's upset eyes, but not so close as to imply intimacy.
"Lyra, I…" Narcissa sighed. "I'm sorry."
Coming up next to her, Lyra crossed her arms and stared at the quills through the window.
"Father got into a fistfight with Arthur," she said. "Then he slid a cursed artifact into Ginny Weasley's cauldron."
"What?" hissed Narcissa.
"I took it out," said Lyra, sighing. "No, you can't have it. After what you just both pulled, I don't think I'll be giving it back." She shook her head. "Do you know that I want to one day help the world?"
Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "Not to rule it? As you've been saying since you were three?"
"If I had to," said Lyra, and Narcissa knew that this time it was not intended as a joke. "I don't really care to. It's not the point. I just want to stop people's suffering." She finally looked at Narcissa. "That includes muggle-born, muggles, the poor — everybody. House-elves, centaurs, even non-sapient animals."
"And I'm not what you'd find in this little utopia of yours," said Narcissa, a little dismissively.
"No," said Lyra. "You're not."
The implications of the simple statement nearly took away the air in her lungs. Lyra was serious.
"If you weren't my mother," continued Lyra, with the final blow to Narcissa's heart, "I'd probably hate you and everything you represented." Lyra swallowed hard, refusing to look at her as Narcissa's heart struggled not to split in two. "The pure-blood nonsense, the superiority, the cruelty. Mother, I didn't free Dobby by accident. I freed him because I was sickened by how father treated him, like he couldn't feel pain or something. Like Dobby's howls of agony were just manufactured by magic and nothing more."
"I —"
"I know you didn't like it either," said Lyra, "but you never spoke up. Never acted in Dobby's defense. You could only grimace. You let him suffer for years and years because you didn't want to step out of your comfort zone."
She turned her eyes to Narcissa, full of angry tears.
"I couldn't have asked for a more loving parent. And do you know how hard it is to conflate these two sides of you? There's the loving mother, who'd without hesitation die for me just like Harry Potter's muggle-born mother died for him — and then there's this cruel side of you, sneering at anyone you think is below you."
"That Weasley had the audacity to — to —" Narcissa struggled, due to both indignation and the heat of Lyra's own words searing across her chest.
"Do you blame him?" hissed Lyra. "No one else sees the side I do, the side I love. Everyone else — everyone — sees nothing but a cold, cruel woman. And at times, that's exactly what you are. But my friends are muggle-borns, blood traitors, house-elves, whatever. It doesn't matter to me. And it shouldn't matter to you either." She held up a hand when Narcissa opened her mouth to object. "I know you don't agree. And that's just something I have to work with. But it hurts, mum. It hurts every time you say something horrible."
Narcissa said nothing. No justification would've been good enough for her daughter. She was intelligent enough to realize that her family growing up was not the most tolerant of the magical world; going to Hogwarts, with all sorts of children with all sorts of backgrounds, truly hammered that in. She still had nightmares about her father, sometimes, the way he might read bedtime stories to Narcissa while Andy cried herself to sleep in the next room, and how hard it was to reconcile those two things.
Did she appear to Lyra like Cygnus Black appeared to her?
It was hard to swallow her daughter's beliefs. Surely she knew of how barbaric the muggles were, with all their wars and ways of living; or how they'd treat her for her preference for women.
Maybe the muggle-borns who assimilated were okay. Perhaps there were even some muggles who were fine and not like the rest.
"I want to change this world for the better," Lyra said with quiet conviction. "Maybe I'm stupid, or naive and I'll just give up before I even graduate — but I don't think so. And I can't just give you a pass for how you treat others. I want to help people. And you, Dumbledore, Voldemort — none of you can stop me." She swallowed. "Remember how I told you Quirrell was in league with Voldemort?"
Narcissa fought as she always did to avoid flinching at the name.
"Yes, I remember," she said, grimacing. "I'm not sure how Dumbledore let that happen, but at least he took care of it in the end."
"I'm the reason he was able to," said Lyra.
Narcissa frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I knew Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort."
"Possessed?" said Narcissa, feeling the air knocked out of her lungs yet again. "He was — the Dark Lord was in the castle?"
Lyra nodded calmly. "And I knew. I staged a confrontation between Quirrell and Dumbledore. Voldemort pretty much fled immediately, leaving Quirrell's body to crumble behind. Dumbledore didn't even get a chance to question him. But yeah, I'm the reason."
Narcissa couldn't stop herself from trembling. "Did you — did he, that is — did he know?"
"The Dark Lord?" said Lyra. "I doubt it. You're missing the point anyway. Voldemort stands in my way. And all that? It's nothing to what else I've done."
Narcissa didn't know what to think or say. How does a parent react to their child confessing they fucked over the most powerful and evil wizard of all time? And that it was "nothing" to the other things she'd done. She wasn't sure if she even wanted to know.
Narcissa threw herself at Lyra, wrapping her arms tight around her.
"Lyra..."
"Still love you, you know," whispered Lyra.
Narcissa's smile was wide enough that her cheeks hurt. She fumbled with her handkerchief for a bit before replying, her mind whirling with thoughts.
"I love you too, Lyra," she said softly. "Never doubt that."
"What are you reading about?" Hermione inquired, leaning in to get a better look at the cover of James' book.
Compendium of Highly Dangerous Magical Creatures, 5th Edition, it read. James had a frown on his face as he slowly closed the tome and looked up at Hermione.
"I'm reading about basilisks," he said.
Hermione frowned. "You mean the 'kill you with a glare' kind of basilisk?"
"That's the one."
"Are you planning to encounter one?" said Hermione with a careful, hesitant smile.
"Yes."
"Oh," said Hermione with a small nervous laugh. "May I ask where?"
"Who knows." James shrugged. "I'm going to be an adventurer, you know."
Hermione's face immediately changed from wary to excited. "Oh! Like Professor Lockhart?"
James grimaced. "I was planning on this long before this year…"
"Maybe you can ask him for pointers! I bet he's really knowledgeable about all of this," Hermione said, then grinned, rummaging through her trunk. She came back up with a signed copy of Travels with Trolls. "He tells you how he survived with trolls, and things like that… They're quite clever, really!"
"I've read that," James said. "I might even find it educational, if the writing wasn't so self-congratulating."
Hermione pulled a face as she put the book back in her trunk. "You're just jealous he did everything before you."
James gave her a funny look, then opened another book on the same topic. "I don't think he did these things on his own, Hermione."
"Well, yes, in some of them he did have help, but he still did these things."
"Not what I meant."
"Well, what did you mean?" James didn't respond. "Fine, then," she said, raising her chin. "Sulk."
James looked up at Hermione. "When did you become so sassy?"
"I'm not sassy!"
"Maybe I should make sure Percy Weasley knows about your bedtime, or you'll get even more cranky."
The stinging hex sent his way splashed harmlessly against the cover of James' book. James muttered something under his breath ("Fucking Lyra") before going back to his reading material.
"So," Hermione said, forcing the topic back on track. "Were you planning to fight a basilisk?"
"Eventually." James snapped his book shut. "But it would be nice if I could find some decent information about them. Basilisks aren't exactly common. The last one was found in India over a hundred years ago, and most of the information we have comes from what we can discern from autopsies or fossils, so their behaviors, diets, habitants and so on, haven't been recorded."
Hermione leaned forward. "And what have you learned?"
"Frustratingly little, as you'd expect. They're hybrid species, like chimera. They're called the King of Serpents, owing to their potential to grow to immense size and their crown-like head ornament. Once they're large enough, they can cause death with eye contact; even when they're tiny, they'll still paralyze you. Their venom is lethal in small doses, with the only known cure being phoenix tears."
"That's… not much."
"No, it's not."
"And you're still going to pick a fight with one?"
"Undoubtedly," James said with a grin. "Can't be an adventurer without fighting a giant mythical beast or two."
"You're an idiot, James."
"Tell me something I don't know, teacher's pet."
"Do you know where Harry and Ron are?" Hermione asked suddenly.
"Not at all. Maybe they're being homeschooled this year. Maybe they're hiding somewhere and they're stuck because Percy and Penny are making out in front of their hiding spot."
Hermione sighed. She'd only met Penelope a couple of times, being one of Lyra and James' prefects and their occasional study partner, and she seemed like a nice enough person — but Percy and Penny's levels of public affection was starting to become infamous.
A pile of books suddenly slammed into the table, startling her. Hermione turned around and saw Lyra, looking tired and annoyed.
"Look who decided to grace us with her presence," said James. "Hello, Lyra. Which firstie did you bully into tears today?"
She gave him a flat stare. "I don't know their names, but they're in our house. Little assholes." She flopped down in a chair with a heavy thud. "I hate children."
"Lyra," Hermione said, and James sighed.
"They're evil creatures," said Lyra without remorse. "A bunch of Ravenclaw first-years were bullying this girl called Luna."
"Fight bullying with more bullying," James said, nodding. "I'll be sure to remember this nugget of wisdom."
"Well, it works. A little too well. I think I've sort of adopted Luna now."
"What are those books for?" said Hermione, always more interested in books than school drama. Lyra's face turned from sheepish back to annoyed.
"Alchemy," she said, frustrated. "I can't figure out how the damn Philosopher's Stone works."
Hermione frowned. "Why do you want to know?"
"Do you think I want to rule the world for only a century?" said Lyra. "How am I going to become Empress of the Galaxy if I die of old age at two hundred?"
"Yes, that does seem like a conundrum," said Hermione absentmindedly, flipping through some of the books. "Do you really think you can recreate the Stone?"
"I should've just stolen it," grumbled Lyra. "At least Voldemort wouldn't have it, then."
Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. "Do you think he's created a new body for himself yet? Professor Dumbledore seemed really worried he'd be back soon."
"I doubt it," said Lyra, yawning. "Apparently alchemy works best with those that are purest of souls." Her face twitched with annoyance. "Which is exactly why I can't — wouldn't be able to use it."
"I bet Nicholas Flamel just made a new Stone and went to Holland or something," James said quickly. He tossed a book in the air, and the enchanted tome fluttered back to its proper position in the library. "He and his wife are probably enjoying themselves in the red light district now, higher than astronauts."
"What's a red light district?" Hermione asked curiously.
"Ask McGonagall," James said. "I'm sure someone like her would know about the topic better than I do."
"Professor McGonagall," Hermione corrected. "I'll do that as soon as I see Professor McGonagall at Transfiguration class this afternoon."
James smiled briefly, before pushing it down. "Sounds good."
Lyra closed her eyes and shook her head.
Professor McGonagall closed her book with a soft thump. "Are there any questions?"
Seeing nobody else raise their hands, Hermione raised her own.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"I was speaking to a friend, and they mentioned something called a 'red light district'," Hermione said. Professor McGonagall blinked. "He said that you would know all about it."
Professor McGonagall stared at Hermione for a very long time, enough that Hermione fidgeted awkwardly in her seat.
"And who, pray tell, was the friend that told this to you?"
"James Stark?"
McGonagall closed her eyes as if in prayer, muttering something under her breath. She looked back to Hermione. "If you do meet Mister Stark later today, please notify him that he will have detention with me tomorrow."
"Wasn't that stupid to say?" said James. "That you'd like to steal the Stone? And then that slip-up? 'I can't'? What if it gets back to Dumbledore?"
"It's fine," said Lyra dismissively.
"Uh, is it?"
"James, I was doing drugs like a fucking champion when I was living in my muggle parents' house. How do you think I got away with it?" She gave him an expectant look. "By telling them I did drugs. So any time they might've been suspicious when I was acting funny, they assumed I was just being a dumbass."
"And you're sure the drugs didn't make you a dumbass?" said James.
Lyra shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe none of this is real and I'm just tripping on DMT."
"Well, I'm not disappearing Back To The Future-style after hearing that, so I think I'm real." James paused, taking a moment to assess his surroundings. Seeing nobody else present in this corner of the library, he took out a small, plain-looking black book from his pocket.
"You know you can't just take stuff out of my trunk, right?" said Lyra. "How'd you even get into my dorm?"
James said nothing, instead flipping it open: the first page was blank.
"Don't," said Lyra warningly. "You're not familiar with soul magic, James."
"And you are?" said James.
"No, I'm not, which is precisely why I haven't written in it," said Lyra as though he were stupid. "Sixteen-year-old Riddle is cleverer and more powerful than us."
"He also got his ass kicked by some random twelve-year-old kid even though he had a giant snake on his side," said James. "Besides, the knowledge we could milk from our friend here is a lot more useful than that rock you can't even use. And I'll be careful in extracting it."
"How, exactly?"
"Here, I have a completely unrelated, un-cursed diary," James said, placing another book onto the table. "I've drawn up a timetable for every single day of this school year. I'll write down every action I took, where and when. I'll have Dobby check in with me once an hour to correlate if my actions are accurate to what I've written. I've also progressed quite far in Occlumency over the summer, if I do say so myself."
Lyra held up a finger. "One time. Just today, for however long. And then it goes back in my trunk permanently. And I'm putting extra protections on it."
James glared for a long moment, then he did the thing he always did when he knew he had no argument left: his glare dropped, he shrugged, said, "Okay," and went back to the diary.
"Glad to receive approval from the queen of good judgments," he muttered.
"Hey, I got the Stone, didn't I?"
James ignored her, taking his pen, and wrote in flowing letters on the first page: My name is James Stark.
For a moment, nothing happened. And then it responded.
Hello, James Stark. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?