FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT ► harry potter ¹

008. Hogsmeade

CHAPTER EIGHT

WINTER'S GEIP TIGHTENED around Hogwarts with each passing day, casting a somber veil over the castle. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the icy air, glistening like shards of broken glass against the dark, stone walls. Lyra Black sat in Charms class, her eyes drifting aimlessly over the dusty tomes and ancient relics scattered around the room. The warmth of the classroom, a feeble attempt to counteract the relentless cold outside, did little to chase away the chill that had settled in her bones. The fire crackled in the hearth, its flickering light dancing across the walls, but it seemed unable to penetrate the pervasive gloom that hung over her.

Her fellow students, a sea of Ravenclaw blue and bronze, busied themselves with the day's lesson, but Lyra's attention was elsewhere. Her thoughts meandered through the corridors of her mind, searching for something to anchor her in the present moment. The anticipation in the room was palpable; everyone seemed to be buzzing with excitement for their upcoming trip to Hogsmeade. Lyra, however, was left behind, a solitary figure amidst the cheerful chatter. Her resentment simmered just below the surface, a dark undercurrent to her otherwise calm exterior.

It wasn't as though she had any particular desire to join her classmates in their excursion; it was more the principle of being excluded that irked her. Uncle Lucius had assured her that she could go, but Dumbledore had decreed that it was too dangerous with her father's rumored presence near the village. The thought of being barred from something simply because of her father's actions was a bitter pill to swallow.

As the minutes dragged by, Lyra's gaze fell upon a new figure in the classroom. A girl with curly blonde hair that cascaded in wild, untamed waves, her bangs veiling eyes that shimmered like pools of amber. The sight of her was like a splash of vibrant color in an otherwise monochromatic world. Lyra's heart skipped a beat as she observed the girl, whose every movement seemed to exude a quiet grace. The girl's beauty was both startling and captivating, and Lyra found herself unable to look away.

Her reverie was abruptly interrupted by Professor Flitwick's high-pitched voice. "Ms. Black," he called out, his tone carrying a note of exasperation. "I would appreciate it if you would pay attention to my class rather than fixating on Ms. Thompson."

The reprimand cut through Lyra's daydreams like a jagged knife. She flushed crimson as the entire room turned its collective gaze towards her. The blonde girl's eyes met hers for a fleeting moment, and Lyra's attempt at a smile was clumsy and unconvincing.

"Sorry, Professor," Lyra mumbled, her voice laced with frustration. "It won't happen again."

Flitwick gave a small nod, his expression softening slightly. "Very well then," he said, returning to his explanation of the day's charm.

Despite her efforts to focus, Lyra's thoughts kept drifting back to the enigmatic blonde. The girl was an enigma wrapped in a veil of golden curls, and Lyra's curiosity was piqued. As the class wound down, she resolved to find out more about this mysterious newcomer.

After the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Lyra lingered by the door, her eyes scanning the room for Ms. Thompson. When the blonde girl finally emerged, Lyra seized the opportunity. She stepped forward, her demeanor a blend of casual confidence and concealed eagerness.

"Oi!" Lyra called out, her voice carrying a note of authority.

Ms. Thompson turned around, her brow furrowed in confusion. Her accent was thick and unfamiliar, carrying a melody of sounds that Lyra couldn't quite place. "Yeah?" she replied, her voice stretching the word into a drawl.