Lysandra woke up in her bed, aching all over and cuddled into Remus' side. The July moon hadn't been a pleasant one, and she could remember bits and pieces this time which made it worse. She whimpered, pressing her nose into Remus' side and drawing her legs to her chest.
A grumble came from the end of the bed, and a cold nose pressed into the back of her neck. Lysandra scrunched away from it and hissed back, causing Remus to rumble out a chuckle.
"Your nose is cold, Sirius." He rasped, rubbing his eyes to clear the sleep out of them. An enormous shaggy black dog stared at him from the other side of his cub's small frame with an unamused look in his eyes. "Keep it away from my cub."
Sirius, the dog, let his tongue loll from his mouth for a moment before he shifted back into his human form.
"Yeah, Sirius." Lysandra grumbled.
It had taken the two some time to get used to each other, and for Sirius to get used to being free and back in his childhood home. Sirius had days where he couldn't bring himself to get out of bed, and Lysandra had days where she acted so pureblooded that Remus just wanted to bang his head against the wall. Eventually, Remus had sat them both down and had a serious talk with them. He'd informed Sirius that he needed to get his head out of his ass and start doing something, and he quietly told Lysandra that she could act however she wanted around them both with no fear. This had sparked the pair into speaking about their issues, Sirius revealing that he couldn't sleep well and Lysandra mumbling about how Lucius Malfoy was a great big twat. Sirius had found that funny, and the pair had finally sat and had a decent conversation.
Sirius had revealed that he was an Animagus to the girl after she'd heard him speaking with Remus about the full moon, much to her joy, because suddenly Sirius had a highly inquisitive fourteen-year-old trailing after him, constantly asking questions about the transformation process.
This comradery came to a halt the day of the full moon because both Remus and Lysandra were highly irritable and on edge. Sirius had spent the day with Remus' wand, preparing the garden for the two and heavily warding the edges of the grounds of Grimmauld.
That night had been the strangest full moon the Black man had ever experienced in his life. Remus, who hadn't been able to take Wolfsbane, should have been incredibly feral…. But he wasn't. He'd hovered around the malformed figure of Lysandra, who lay on the grass just outside the door crying and whimpering in great pain. Sirius had spent a while pacing around the pair, getting growled at, and snapped at, but had eventually been able to drag a heavy blanket over to the poor half-transformed girl and cover her with it.
Remus had been the first to transform back, gathering a pair of pants around his waist as he watched Sirius lift Lysandra carefully from the ground and hover by the door. They carted the girl up to the master bedroom, and Remus climbed up to comfort her when she woke up. Sirius had stayed, returning to Padfoot's four-legged body to warm her toes.
"My nose is just the right temperature." He informed his cousin, who glared up at him with one eye. He grinned cheekily at her before his smile fell. "How are you feeling, kiddo?"
"Like shit." She croaked. Remus stared at her with enormous amounts of surprise and then burst into laughter. "Remus, that hurts."
"You're not laughing." He cackled, holding his stomach. "That's the first time I've ever heard you swear, Lizzie."
"I'll have to start swearing more often." She drawled lazily, rolling onto her back.
"Bloody hell. Merlin's saggy balls. Fuck. Wanker. Salazar's-"
The pair of weres stared at Sirius with large eyes.
"What?" he said, crossing his legs. "I'm helping."
This declaration was followed by his sudden descent onto the floor, courtesy of Remus.
Lysandra bumbled down the stairs early on July Thirty-First, arriving at the bottom to see a very contemplative Sirius seated at the dining table with a plate full of eggs and sausage. She clambered into the chair at the head of the table as she usually did, and began poking at the scrambled eggs and fruit with her fork when they appeared in front of her seconds later.
"You look positively serious." She grumbled at him. Sirius flashed her a grin.
"I am Sirius." He replied to his cousin, who dropped her head onto the table and groaned. Sirius contentedly chewed on a sausage and then looked at Lysandra. "Sirius-ly though, I have a question."
"Yes?"
"Do you know how to make cake?"
"Cake?" She stared at him with a raised eyebrow. "What kind? Christmas, fruit, chocolate, birthday?"
"That one. Birthday." He nodded, pointing a finger at her. She shrugged, looking curiously at the man.
"Can't be too hard. I've made cookies before. Why? Who's birthday is it? Is it Remus's?!"
"No, no. His isn't for a while. March Tenth." Sirius shook his head and then looked sheepish. "It's Harry's birthday today. His god-awful Muggle aunt is making the whole family diet this summer, and I mean, Harry's thin enough anyway, so he asked for some assistance, but I haven't ever sent him a birthday cake…. And I wanted to."
Lysandra stabbed a circle of kiwi, shoved it into her mouth, and stood. Sirius looked a little disappointed at her silent dismissal.
"Chocolate?" she asked, heading for the kitchen. Sirius scrambled after her, nearly beaning his head on the door as he rushed after her.
"Chocolate would work! I think he likes chocolate!"
"How creative can I get here?" She asked over her shoulder. "I'm a novice baker, but I figure this will mean a lot to the guy."
Remus found the pair several hours later, still dressed in their pajamas and with flour in their matching dark hair. He cleared his throat just as Sirius was about to hurl a handful of flour at his cousin and the pair turned to face their werewolf with matching mischievous smirks. Remus sighed and spread his arms out, resigning himself to his fate. Two large handfuls of flour showered over his body and then he made his way over to his pack.
"What are you two doing?" He asked, shaking his head at their mess.
"Lysandra helped me make a cake for Harry!" Sirius chirped, gesturing to the perfectly iced cake they'd protected with a very large glass punch bowl. Remus blinked at his cub and chuckled.
"That was nice of you."
Lysandra shrugged but looked very pleased. "Everyone should have a cake on their birthday."
"What kind of tropical bird are you sending it with this time?" Remus asked his friend. Sirius grinned and pointed to a toucan who sat in the corner, looked affronted.
"Lizzie is getting good at her transfigurations!" He crowed.
"What happened to the flamingo?"
"Harry said it was too big and it nearly didn't fit through the window."
Lysandra received the invitation from Fleur at the beginning of August, with her Hogwarts letter. The letter from Hogwarts was the same as the previous three, save for the change of name and address, and the different set of books she'd need; The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five by Miranda Goshawk, and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. The letter also stated that she needed dress robes, for what reason, she had no idea.
The letter from Fleur was an invitation to spend the last couple of weeks before school started with her at their summer house in Southern France with a few of her friends from Beauxbatons, her parents and her younger sister, who would be starting her magical school that year. Lysandra immediately penned back a reply and hurried upstairs to start sorting through what she should and shouldn't take. Both Remus and Sirius watched her thunder out of her bedroom about ten minutes later and nearly collide with them as they came out of the parlor.
"Remus!" She yelled, barrelling into him. The pair would've fallen if Sirius hadn't caught them. "I need to go to Diagon Alley! I need to get my books, and I need a swimsuit."
"Why do you need a swimsuit?" Sirius asked, helping Remus back upright.
"I'm going to visit Fleur." She replied distractedly, though she was staring at him. "My friend from Beauxbatons; she invited me to her summer house in Southern France. Do you want to come?"
"To France?" Sirius furrowed his brows.
"No, numb-nut." She scoffed. "To Diagon. We haven't left the house since you got here."
"I'd like to…." He sighed. "But people will recognize me."
"No. I can do something about that." She grinned, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him into the nearest bathroom. She pushed him to sit on the edge of the bath and then abruptly pointed her wand at his face.
"Crinus Muto." She said, flicking her wand at his hair. She paused then, and Sirius suddenly didn't like the look on her face. "You need a haircut."
Remus snickered from the doorway at Sirius' horrified expression. Lysandra rolled her eyes and gave him a stern look. Remus quieted immediately.
"Tonsus." Sirius whimpered as his hair fell from around his shoulders. He sulked as his cousin fiddled with his shorter locks and pulled the top part into a bun on the back of his head. Remus shook his head with amusement, watching his cub muck around with the way Sirius' face was presented. She poked at his eyebrows, thickening them a bit, and changed the shape of his nose, and then she stood back to look at him.
Sirius was already dressed casually for the day – a dark pair of jeans that still fit from Sixth year (which concerned Remus) and a faded ACDC shirt – and when she quietly summoned Sirius' leather jacket from his room, Remus was suddenly staring at someone who looked a whole lot like the old Sirius.
"Well?" Sirius threw his arms out. "How terrible is it, Moony?"
"It looks fine. A bit like you used to."
"Really?" Sirius launched himself at the mirror excitedly. "Woah! I do! But not like me."
"The best disguises are the ones where you look a bit like yourself, but with enough differences that it's obvious that you aren't," Lysandra told them, looking proud. "Now let's go, Gerald."
"Gerald?" Remus laughed.
"That's a terrible name!" complained Sirius, throwing his arms up. Remus rolled his eyes.
"Says the one who wanted to call Harry 'Elvendork'."
"Seriously?" Lysandra gaped at the man-child who stood in front of the mirror grinning.
"It's unisex! James thought it was a good idea!"
"Let's just go."
"Can I be Elvendork?"
"No."
The trio arrived at Diagon Alley via Floo, tumbling into the Leaky Cauldron one after the other with large grins on their faces. Tom, the barkeep, nodded at them, curiously eyeing Sirius' altered form before turning back to the ever-present hag at the end of the bar.
"It worked," Sirius muttered, following Remus to the wall diving the Alley with the inn.
Diagon Ally was busy, but not overly so. Sirius stared at the bustle like it was his first time, his eyes wide and sparkling. The poor man was practically vibrating with excitement, and then he shot an enormous grin at his two companions, who were already discussing their plan of action.
"-first? Madam Malkin's would be a good first stop; we can all do with some new clothes." Lysandra said, watching as several known pureblood families whispered to each other while they stared in her direction.
"I'll just go to the second-hand robe-"
"Absolutely not." She interrupted, fixing a stern glare up at the werewolf. "I'm buying, and you can't tell me not to."
"About bloody time!" Sirius threw up his hands, nearly hitting poor Remus in the nose. "I tried for years to buy you things, and now I have back up, and we're going to march you into that shop, and you don't get a say. Yes!"
Remus visibly pouted. Both Sirius and Lysandra shook their heads and began to do as they said, marching the werewolf straight into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
Madam Malkin herself was manning the shop that day, and she looked ecstatic when the trio appeared, placing her hands on her hips and widely grinning.
"It's about time you came back here, Mister Lupin!" She scolded, whisking him away from the Black cousins to fuss over him. Remus shot a look over his shoulder in a plea for help but immediately became aware that he'd been abandoned to the mercies of the magical seamstress. Sirius was staring down at his cousin with a surprised look as she pointed towards the men's section of the store, speaking a mile a minute. Sirius' enthusiastic nod was the last thing he saw before he was yanked behind the back curtain by the shop owner.
Occasionally, as Madam Malkin whipped her tape measure all over his limbs and held up robes of various colors, laughter drifted through the curtain. Remus had worried for weeks over how well Sirius and Lysandra would be able to get along, and he was finally convinced that the pair were going to be fine.
"Moony!" Sirius bellowed, bursting through the curtain as Madam Malkin burrowed into a rack at the far end of the room. "What do you think!?"
Remus turned to face his old friend and instantly burst into laughter.
Sirius's head was now adorned with a glittery pink tiara, and he'd wiggled himself into a set of electric blue witch's robes embroidered with flashing yellow flowers, with a bright pink feather boa slung around his shoulders.
"Lizzie says it brings out my eyes!" He announced, batting horrendously long fake eyelashes in his direction.
"It's not your color, Padfoot." Remus chuckled, shooing him out into the other area.
"You just don't know fashion when you see it." Sirius cried dramatically, spinning on his heel, and sashaying out of the back room.
Fortunately, that was the last time Sirius interrupted his brief kidnapping-by-seamstress, and the rest of their venture in Madam Malkin's went smoothly. Sirius was designated as the pack mule, much to his disappointment, because Lysandra headed for Flourish and Blotts next. Remus, of course, followed with no hesitation, leaving Sirius to sulk after them. They spent nearly two hours in the bookstore before Sirius threatened to make a scene. The trio stopped for ice cream to appease the man-child, and then made several quicks stops into the stationary store and apothecary.
Their arrival back at Grimmauld Place was greeted by the smell of dinner wafting from the dining room, and when they'd finished eating Remus ushered his cub up the stairs to bed so she could have an early start for her trip.
Southern France was a lovely place, Lysandra decided after nearly a week of galivanting over pristine pale beaches and splashing about with Gabrielle, Fleur's younger sister, and the tall part-Veela girl. The gaggle of girls that had appeared shortly after Lysandra contained teenagers of all ages, the youngest at Gabrielle's age of eleven and the oldest being Fleur's cousin at eighteen.
The group had the Delacour's summer mansion mostly to themselves, as her parents were constantly popping in and out with little care for what they got themselves up to. The older girls, Lysandra included, had gone out dancing one night and had gone shopping in Paris the next day, which – thanks to the Floo Network – was only seconds away for their purchasing leisure.
Fleur had mentioned while they were shopping that she also needed dress robes for school that year, and they'd swiftly found themselves dragged into one of Paris' many dress stores. Fleur's cousin was surprisingly fussy about what she thought Fleur looked good in, and eventually pulled out a sketchbook that she wouldn't let anyone see. She insisted that Fleur not buy any robes, which very nearly caused an argument. Lysandra ended up not buying anything either, but nothing had caught her eye, so it was no loss to her.
The summer dwindled to an end and before she knew it Lysandra back in the gloomy Grimmauld Place. She was greeted by an enthusiastic smothering by Padfoot, who cheekily squashed her until Remus came to her rescue and bounded out the door into the garden to feed Buckbeak, who'd been smuggled into Grimmauld while Lysandra was away and had been given the renovated garden shed for a stable.
Remus squeezed her into a hug, and brushed her loose hair away from her face with a smile, commenting on how the sun had done her some good, and that Kreacher had packed her truck for the train tomorrow.
"I've got an interview tomorrow for a job at a second-hand shop on Diagon Alley tomorrow, so I won't be able to take you to Kings Cross," Remus informed her before she went to bed. "I'm sure Gerald could take you if you wanted?"
"Kreacher can take me." She shook her head, gazing at her packmate sadly. "Gerald would have to wait until you came back to return to normal. We should think about getting him a wand."
"We really should." Remus murmured, ruffling her hair as she headed into bed.
The skies were dark and gloomy when Lysandra woke up, which quickly became a downpour while she ate breakfast with Sirius. The man's usual enthusiastic morning presence had been muted, and he kept grumbling to himself as he stabbed his eggs.
"You can write." She said, sipping the last of her tea. Sirius glanced at her and nodded. "I hope you do. I need to know how Remus does when I'm not here."
"He'd forget his head if it wasn't screwed on right." He replied lightly, the corners of his mouth tipping up. She nodded, rising from her seat. Sirius watched her stand, dropping his fork onto his plate with a clatter to run his fingers through his hair.
"You know," he yawned, staring at the wall as she headed into the front corridor to get her Hogwarts robes. "I think this will be the first time I'll miss a Slytherin."
Lysandra snorted, reappearing in his line of sight seconds later as she looped a blatantly scarlet-and-gold tie around her neck. "Are you sure you're not color blind?"
Sirius stared at her with his mouth hanging open, watching her carefully knot the fabric around her neck several times before another pair of hands appeared over hers.
"Take a picture, Padfoot." Remus snickered, still in his pajamas. "It'll last longer."
"What? But I thought…" Sirius babbled, looking so incredibly confused that the were-pair started laughing again.
"Didn't you ever wonder why I was here?" Lysandra rolled her eyes, leaning her head back to gather her long hair into a sleek ponytail. "I was a Malfoy."
"You are now my favorite cousin," Sirius announced, pulling her into a hug that made the girl blink. "This is great! Go Gryffindor Blacks!"
"Thank you?"
Sirius threw his head back and barked out a loud laugh. His entire face had lit up like a Christmas tree, and he looked like he was going to start dancing.
"Right." Remus interrupted Sirius' moment of glee. "I need to get dressed, and you need to head for the platform before you're detained by a crazy dog. Be good. Send us a letter when you get there to let us know you're not dead."
She nodded, nuzzling into the hug Remus pulled her into before he headed upstairs to get ready for his interview. Sirius was still grinning when Kreacher appeared with her trunk, claiming it was time to go.
"Sirius, make sure you keep cleaning while I'm gone," Lysandra said as she took Kreacher's outstretched hand.
"My little baby cousin," Sirius cried dramatically. "Off to destroy people!"
"Let's go Kreacher."
The house elf Apparated her directly onto Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters, which was thankfully dry. He sent her trunk into the luggage carriage and bowed deeply. She'd had the foresight to give Kreacher instructions for while she was gone before she went to bed the night before, so when he had done his duty in dropping her off, he returned to Grimmauld. Lysandra climbed swiftly into the warmth of the train and had just seated herself when two people burst into her compartment.
"Lysandra! I heard what happened! Are you okay!?" Ines cried, dropping Cassius' wrist to flutter about Lysandra's form.
"She's fine." Cassius sighed, seating himself across from the fourteen-year-old. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his short brown hair and hauled Ines away from the still confused Gryffindor. He set her beside him and flung an arm around her shoulder, bringing a bright blush to the Ravenclaw's face. "She'd have sent me a letter if she needed rescuing and she didn't."
"Right, right. I'm sorry." Ines took a breath and smiled brightly. "Hello, Lysandra."
"Hello, Ines." She replied, rolling her eyes. "Hello, Cassius."
"That's not normal," Ines whispered loudly to the Slytherin boy, who shook his head with amusement. "She's never rolled her eyes at us before."
"A summer without my father hovering over my every move will do that," Lysandra replied, watching as Ines' mouth dropped open and Cassius looked impressed. "How was your summer, Ines?"
The Ravenclaw immediately went bright red and began playing with the sleeves of her robes and brushing her skirt free of invisible dirt. A slow grin spread across Cassius' face at her expression, and he tightened the arm he had around her.
"What am I missing?" Lysandra looked between the pair.
"We started dating." He informed the Fourth Year.
Lysandra smiled at the pair. "Good for you two!"
"What's this about dating?" One of the Hufflepuffs from their Arithmancy class poked her head in with a bright grin, entering second later with two others from the class on her heels. "Tell me everything."
The rest of the train ride was spent with an ever-exuberant crowd of Seventh Years, all of which were happy to include her in their conversations. Several casual charms were fired back and forth, and one of the Ravenclaw boys who joined them near the end of the ride lent Lysandra a book about non-verbal spells.
The Gryffindor girl was swept into the crowd with her compartment group and into one of the carriages outside with little fuss, someone casting a wide range 'Umbrellum' to keep them all as dry as possible. Someone was smart enough to recast the spell when before they all clambered out and the entire group was thankful that they did because Peeves was pelting the already drenched students with icy-cold water balloons.
Several drying spells took care of their shoes and after a couple of warming spells the group split ways for their House tables, dry and toasty warm.
The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in mid-air. The four long House tables were filling with chattering students, and at the top of the hall, the staff sat along the side of a fifth table. It was much warmer in the Great Hall than in the Entrance Hall, thankfully.
Lysandra took a seat near the end of the Gryffindor table, crowding herself in with the new Seventh Years, who barely paid her any attention. She wasn't seated long before Professor McGonagall led a long line of Firsties up to the top of the Hall. The poor things looked half drowned, and a particularly small boy with mousey hair was wrapped in what appeared to be Hagrid's overcoat. His excited eyes searched the Gryffindor table for someone, and he mouthed 'I fell in the lake!' with delight on his round face.
Professor McGonagall placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the First-Years and then, an extremely old, dirty, patched wizard's hat. The Sorting Hat looked no worse for wear this year than the year before, and once the Great Hall was silent, a tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the Hat broke into song.
"A thousand years or more ago,
When I was newly sewn,
There lived four wizards of renown,
Whose names are still well known:
Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,
Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,
Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,
Shrewd Slytherin, from fen."
"They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,
They hatched a daring plan
To educate young sorcerers
Thus Hogwarts School began."
"Now each of these four founders
Formed their own House, for each
Did value different virtues
In the ones they had to teach."
"By Gryffindor, the bravest were
Prized far beyond the rest,
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest
Would always be the best,
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were
Most worthy of admission,
And power-hungry Slytherin
Loved those of great ambition."
"While still alive they did divide
Their favorites from the throng,
Yet how to pick the worthy ones
When they were dead and gone?"
"'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,
He whipped me off his head
The founders put some brains in me
So I could choose instead!"
"Now slip me snug about your ears,
I've never yet been wrong,
I'll have a look inside your mind
And tell where you belong!"
The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished, and Professor McGonagall began unrolling the large scroll of parchment she carried.
"When I call out your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool." She told the Firsties. "When the Hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table. Ackerley, Stewart!"
A boy walked forward, pale-faced and trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, and sat down on the rickety stool.
"Ravenclaw!" The Hat bellowed. Stewart Ackerley took off the Hat and hurried to a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him with polite gusto.
Baddock, Malcolm was Sorted into Slytherin, followed by Branstone, Eleanor who became the first Hufflepuff. She was followed by Burke, Joanne – a Ravenclaw -, Cauldwell, Owen – a Hufflepuff -, and Creevey, Dennis – who became the first Gryffindor and was the tiny boy who'd fallen the lake. Dobbs, Emma was also Sorted into Gryffindor, followed by three Hufflepuffs – David Gould, Stanley Jones, and Laura Madley. McDonald, Natalie joined the Gryffindors; O'Connor, Johnny joined the Hufflepuffs; Pritchard, Graham became a Slytherin; Quirke, Orla was a Ravenclaw and both Whitby, Kevin, and Wilkes, Helen joined Hufflepuff to bring the Sorting of Nineteen-Ninety-Four to a close.
Professor McGonagall carried the Hat and stool away as Professor Dumbledore got to his feet, and spread his arms wide.
"I only have two words to say to you," he told them as his voice echoed around the Hall. "Tuck in!"
"Hear, hear!" Someone cried from down the Gryffindor table as the empty dishes filled in front of them. Lysandra had a suspicion it was Weasley and Potter but was too busy loading her plate full of steaming meat and vegetables, something that Remus had sternly lectured her on over the summer.
The rain drummed heavily against the high, dark windows as Hogwarts ate and chatted with one another, bragging about their summer holidays. Another clap of thunder shook the glass, and the stormy ceiling flashes, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with dessert.
Lysandra found it incredibly exhilarating to eat in the middle of such stormy conditions without getting wet and cold and found that her fourth start-of-term feast was by far her favorite. Soon enough, the puddings and tarts and pies had been demolished, and the last crumbs faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean. Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again, causing the chatter to cease almost at once, so that the only noise was the howling wind and pounding rain.
"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mister Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mister Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."
"As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below Third Year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
A look at the many Quidditch players and enthusiasts revealed that many of them were too appalled to even speak.
"This is due," Dumbledore continued, having paused for any complaints that may have surfaced. "To an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy – but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have the great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-"
A deafening rumble of thunder sounded overhead, and with excellent dramatic timing, the Great Hall doors were flung open. A man stood in the doorway, leaning on a long staff and shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled towards the stranger, who was suddenly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook the water out of the long, grizzled mane he called hair, and then began to limp up towards the teachers' table. A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step.
Lysandra's cat-like eyes picked out the deeply scarred skin of his face and the two mismatched eyes that peered suspiciously at all the students. Mad-Eye Moody, Auror Extraordinaire, had come to Hogwarts, and as the raven-haired teen watched him shake hands with Dumbledore, she had a sinking feeling that the Auror was going to be their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
"May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore announced in a tone that didn't fit the mood in the Hall. "Professor Moody."
While it was usual for the students to applaud for new staff members, nobody clapped for their newest professor, except for Dumbledore and Hagrid, and they stopped quickly when no one joined in. The man in question seemed indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome, taking a long pull from a personal hip flask that he fished from under his dripping cloak.
"As I was saying," the Headmaster cleared his throat. "We are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."
"You're JOKING!" one of the Weasley Twins yelled. His abrupt exclamation broke the tension in the Hall, and nearly everyone laughed.
"I am not joking, Mister Weasley." Dumbledore chuckled. "Though, now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar-"
Professor McGonagall loudly cleared her throat and sent the Headmaster a pointed look.
"Er, but maybe this is not the time… no…" Dumbledore coughed. "Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament… well, some of you will not know what this Tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."
"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the here champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the Tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities – until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the Tournament was discontinued."
"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the Tournament," Dumbledore continued. "None of which have been very successful. However, our own Departments of International Magical Co-operation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that, this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger."
"The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."
"I'm going for it!" One of the Weasley twins hissed down the table. He wasn't the only person who seemed excited at the prospect because even some of the First-Years were whispering excitedly to their neighbors.
Dumbledore raised a hand for silence and spoke again. "Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age – that is to say, seventeen or older – will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This-" The Headmaster raised his voice over the abrupt explosion of noise at this declaration. "Is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the Tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever the precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below Sixth or Seventh Year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion. I, therefore, beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen."
"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"
Lysandra swung herself over the bench and followed behind one of the Prefects as they made their way through the throng of students leaving the Great Hall. Her mind drifted to the news about Beauxbatons, and she wondered if Fleur was going to be coming to Hogwarts. It would be nice to have someone to hang around with when she wasn't elbows-deep into OWL homework.
The Fat Lady jovially greeted the small group of Gryffindors that had followed the Prefect, and swung open with little fuss when the password – Balderdash – was given. She made her way up to her dorm, plucking some parchment and a quill from her perfectly organized trunk before she seated herself on the grand window seat and set about writing a letter to Remus and Sirius.
Sirius and Remus,
As promised, a letter to inform you of my lack of death during travel.
It looks as though this will be an interesting year. The Headmaster announced after the Start-of-Term feast (yes, Remus, I ate vegetables) that Hogwarts would be hosting the Triwizard Tournament. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be joining us in October, which I'm looking forward to. I'm hoping Fleur will arrive with the Beauxbatons entourage. It would be nice to have someone to hang around with this year, other than copious amounts of books.
Speaking of, any tips for OWLs? I'll be taking three this year – Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions – and any information that will help manage the workload would be appreciated. Not that I'm concerned, but I like to be prepared.
Sirius, please don't murder my/our house elf. I know Kreacher is a bit of a twit but go easy on him. You may not like him, but don't stoop to his level. Also, I was thinking about the front corridor on the train; what do you think about a light brown or grey on the walls and dark wood on the floor? Personally, I think that would lighten the place up.
Not Dead,
Lysandra Black
After reading the letter over and spelling the ink dry, Lysandra set it to the side and scrawled a quick letter to Fleur, asking simply if she had heard about the Tournament and if she would be coming to Hogwarts.
The other girls strode noisily into the dorm room – Lavender doing her usual eye roll at her presence – and Granger joined them shortly after. The two letters were written and sealed, Lysandra undressed behind her bed curtains (the benefits of having a bed in a corner) and settled in for a good sleep. OWL level class started tomorrow, and she was determined not to let Professor McGonagall down.
When the girls woke the next morning, the storm that had been raging the night before had blown over, but the ceiling in the Great Hall showed a blanket of gloomy looking clouds of pewter grey. Timetables were handed out as the students arrived, and McGonagall stopped at Lysandra's end of the table as the teen starting picking through the bowl of fruit in front of her.
"Miss Black," the stern professor's lips twitched upwards slightly as she handed over the parchment containing her schedule. "You're going to be busy this year. Your exam marks were excellent, and I expect the same level of dedication in your grades even with the Tournament. OWLs cannot be taken lightly."
"I'm looking forward to it, Professor McGonagall," Lysandra replied, looking at the altered schedule.
"We've had to shuffle you around a bit in your Fourth Year classes. You'll be seeing more of the Hufflepuffs this year."
"That works just fine for me, Professor," Lysandra replied, glancing at the Slytherin table. Draco was sorting through a package from Narcissa, hoarding the sweets from his peers with glee. A couple of school owls landed on the Gryffindor table, passing along letters from siblings not in the same House, and Lysandra bribed two to take her letters before they managed to escape. Bacon did wonders for the school owls.
Once she was sure the owls had left with her letters, Lysandra headed down the soggy path to the greenhouses for her first Herbology lesson. Professor Sprout took them into greenhouse three and gestured to several pots with what looked like large black slugs, all sitting vertically. Each one was squirming, and had many large, shiny swellings upon it, which looked like they were full of liquid.
"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout announced, reaching for her gloves. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus-"
"The what?!" Finnigan managed to gag out, looking revolted from his spot at the side of the room.
"Pus, Finnigan, pus." Said Professor Sprout. "And it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, Bubotuber pus."
Squeezing Bubotubers was disgusting, yet an oddly satisfying action. As each boil popped, a large amount of thick yellow-green liquid burst forth, smelling strongly of petrol (a substance that made Muggle transportation move). The class caught the liquid in the bottles as Professor Sprout had indicated, and by the end of the lesson had collected several pints.
"This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy," the Hufflepuff Head told them. "An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, Bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to ride themselves of pimples."
A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signaling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Hufflepuffs heading back into the castle for Transfiguration and the other Gryffindors heading to Care of Magical Creatures. Lysandra followed the Hufflepuffs, heading for her first OWL class
She got a couple of odd looks as she headed down to the dungeons, coming to a halt outside Snape's door with a group of Slytherins and Ravenclaws. They all gave her odd looks until the door creaked open and they all filed in. Lysandra settled herself in her usual seat, at the back by herself.
"Settle down," Snape said coolly, shutting the door when they'd all filed in and seated themselves. There wasn't a need for it, as the Fifth-Year students had all gone silent when the door had opened to let them all in.
"Before we begin today's lesson," He drawled, sweeping over to his desk, and turning to stare at them all. "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect all of you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your OWL, or suffer my…. Displeasure."
Her godfather's dark eyes hovered on a Ravenclaw girl with curly brown hair.
"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me. I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye. But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell, so whether you intend to attempt NEWT or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students. Yes, Mister Montague?"
"What's she doing here?" The heavy-set Quidditch player pointed one of his meaty fingers at Lysandra, who stared back with boredom.
"She is here to learn, Mister Montague," Snape replied, glancing at the Gryffindor girl. "And you are interrupting my lesson. Do it again, and I'll start taking points."
Montague grumbled but remained quiet.
"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level; the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: If you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients, you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing. The ingredients and method," He flicked his wand. "Are on the blackboard, and you will find everything you need," he flicked his wand again. "In the store cupboard. You have an hour and a half… Start."
Lysandra took a moment to write the method and ingredients down, preparing her station thoroughly before she headed to get her ingredients. The Draught of Peace was a difficult, fiddly potion. The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, first clockwise, then counter-clockwise; the heat of the flames on which the potion simmered had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added.
Lysandra favored Potion-Making over her brother when their godfather had started to teach them the basics, and he'd given her some tips when he'd seen her enthusiasm. He kept to his desk most of the class but started his perusal of his students with ten minutes left.
"A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion." He called, making his way through the Slytherins. He made a face at the copious amounts of dark gray steam wafting from Montague's cauldron and didn't say a word when he passed a frazzled Ravenclaw who's potion spat green sparks.
"What is this?" Snape stared down at her blankly when he arrived at her desk. Several students turned to watch the Fourth Year get chewed out.
"The Draught of Peace, professor." She replied easily, already tidying her station.
"As I can see." He gazed down at her potion, looking distinctly pleased. "You continue to impress me, Miss Black. Five points to Gryffindor."
The class erupted into whispers, the Slytherin's looking horrified, and several of the Ravenclaws looked mortified that a girl a year younger than them had managed to earn points for a potion that hadn't even been graded yet.
"Fill a flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing. Homework," Snape swooped around, heading back for his desk. "Twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday."
The students all whispered to each other as they filled their flagons, and Lysandra carefully brought her flagon to her godfather, who gave a pleased nod when she placed it on his desk and returned to her pristine station. The bell rang as she was putting her cauldron away, and the stampede of students headed out the door.
"Miss Black," Snape called, halting her escape to lunch. "Come here."
"Yes, professor?"
Snape stared at her with an unreadable expression, folding his long fingers together. She fought the urge not to fidget, and she nearly jumped when he spoke.
"Did he hurt you?" Snape finally asked. She tilted her head in confusion.
"Who?"
"Your father."
"Oh!" She smiled. "He didn't even know until it had already happened. We saw each other in passing when I went to the Ministry for my exams."
"Good." Snape nodded, standing. He headed for the door, briskly opening it, and gesturing her out. She nodded at him and then headed for lunch. A plate of roast lamb was waiting for her when she arrived, covered in thick gravy and with a side of roasted potatoes.
The Double Arithmancy class after lunch was lovely; she'd sat with Cassius' group again, and they spent the class laughing at several hilarious interpretations of names. Professor Vector sent them on their way with no homework and a cheerful grin.
Of course, she hadn't accounted for her twin's usual antics so when she rounded the corner and heard his taunting, she scowled heavily and marched forward to smack some sense into him.
"Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"
"Get stuffed, Malfoy," Potter told him, holding back Weasley, whose ears were turning bright red. Everyone was staring.
"Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" sneered Malfoy. "So, tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?"
"You know your mother, Malfoy?" Harry snapped. Lysandra immediately stiffened, pushing her way to the front of the crowd. "That expression she's got like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"
Draco's pale cheeks tinted pink. Lysandra struggled to push her frame through a pair of Sixth-Years.
"Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."
"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," Potter said, turning away.
Lysandra's grey eyes flashed silver when her brother pulled his wand and muttered something under his breath. A spell shot out of the end with a bang, causing several people to scream. Lysandra had been one of them, but she'd bellowed her brother's name. Potter went for his wand, but before he could, there was another bang.
"OH, NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"
The students turned to face Professor Moody, who was limping down the stairs with his wand out. He was pointing it at a perfectly white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where her twin had been.
Lysandra turned on her heel and headed for McGonagall's office. The frazzled look on the teen's face had the Deputy Headmistress following her student with a short explanation of 'Potter and Draco.' She'd been right to get McGonagall because when they arrived, Mad-Eye Moody was bouncing the Draco-ferret against the stone floor.
"Professor Moody!"
"Hello, Professor McGonagall." He replied calmly, bouncing the ferret higher. Lysandra's eyes widened, and she quickened her pace to catch her twin on his descent. The ferret landed in her hands with a thump, and she turned her back to Moody to protect him.
"What – what were you doing?" Professor McGonagall demanded.
"Teaching," Moody replied, staring at the girl who'd blocked him from Draco. He narrowed his beady eye at her.
"Teach – Moody, is that a student?!" the Transfiguration professor shrieked.
"It's my brother," Lysandra told her over her shoulder, throwing a glare in Moody's direction.
"No!" McGonagall hurried down the stairs and flourished her wand. With a loud snapping sound, Draco reappeared with his blond hair mussed and with a brilliantly pink face. He winced in his sister's sure hold, trying to struggle away from her. She gave him a sad look as he pushed her away, heading for his group of Slytherins. Pansy welcomed him with a hand on his arm, glowering at Lysandra.
"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" McGonagall scolded. "Surely, Professor Dumbledore told you that!"
"He might've mentioned it, yes." Moody scratched his chin. "But I thought a good sharp shock-"
"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House."
"I'll do that then." Said Moody, staring at Draco with great dislike.
Draco, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and likely a great deal of humiliation, looked malevolently up at their Defence professor.
"My father will hear about this." He hissed.
"Oh yeah?" Moody limped forward as he spoke. "Well, I know your father of old, boy… you tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son; you tell him that from me. Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?"
"Yes," Draco grumbled, his eyes flashing to his twin, who stood beside her Head of House. Her eyes were fixed above his head, and her fingers were tangled in the bottoms of her sleeves, but she hadn't left like he had thought she would.
"Another old friend," Moody growled. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape… come on, you."
Moody snatched up Draco's arm and frogmarched him towards the dungeons with a gaggle of Fourth Year Slytherins behind him. McGonagall stared after them.
"Five points to Gryffindor, Miss Black." She said quietly. "I heard the elves made a lovely beef casserole for dinner."
"Yes, professor. Thank you." The raven-haired girl replied, following the Golden Trio into the Great Hall.
"Don't talk to me," Weasley said as they all sat at the table – Lysandra a couple of people down.
"Why not?" Granger asked with surprise as she reached for a deep dish of casserole.
"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever." The ginger replied, a pleased expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret…"
Both Potter and Granger laughed as she began to serve them out dinner. Lysandra shot the Trio a harsh look from down the table, which Granger caught the end of. The bushy-haired brunette blinked at her in surprise and then she turned back to the boys.
"He could have really hurt Malfoy, though." She said, loud enough for Lysandra's advanced hearing to pick up. "It was good that his twin got Professor McGonagall to stop it…"
"The Malfoys can go drown for all I care," Ron growled. "And you're ruining the best moment of my life!"
"She's not a Malfoy, though," Granger informed him around the quick mouthfuls of food she was shoving in her face.
"What?" Potter blinked at her and then looked down the table at their year-mate. She was replying to a question from one of the people beside her, and a small grin flickered across her angular face.
"The teachers have been calling her Black," Granger informed them quietly. "She's been disowned."
"No, she hasn't," Longbottom said from the other side of them. "Gran said that she was emancipated and then adopted into the Black Family."
The Trio exchanged looks, all wondering if she knew Sirius. Granger continued to eat at top speed, and then she swung herself away from the bench.
"Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" Potter said, watching his friend pack up.
"Got to," Granger replied. "Loads to do."
"But you told us Professor Vector-"
"It's not schoolwork." She informed them and then briskly strode away, glancing at Lysandra as she left. The part-were met her gaze with eerie silver eyes and a smirk.
Lysandra had her first OWL-level Charms class first thing Tuesday morning, and her OWL-level Transfiguration class right after. Professor Flitwick lectured the first fifteen minutes about how important OWLs were, much like Professor Snape had done, in his own menacing manner.
"What you must remember," Professor Flitwick squeaked from his stack of books behind his desk. "Is that these examinations may influence your futures for many years to come! If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in the meantime, I'm afraid, we shall be working harder than ever to ensure that you all do yourselves justice! We're going to start by reviewing Levitation Charms."
Lysandra had a bit of an advantage over the Fifth Years – Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs this time – in that it hadn't been quite as long ago she was learning this. With the memory of their first time casting the charms (It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa), Lysandra was among the first to launch her pillow into the air.
"You're very good at Charms." Her desk mate said quietly. Lysandra turned to look at the Ravenclaw girl, who smiled. "I'm Cho Chang."
"Lysandra Black." She offered her hand, and Cho shook it daintily with a friendly smile.
"You're in my Potions class too, right?" Cho asked, averting her eyes to her pillow as it wavered.
"I am." Lysandra nodded, eyeing Cho with realization. Cho had been beside the curly-haired girl that Snape hadn't been too keen on.
"Excellent work, girls!" Flitwick called to the pair. The tiny professor rounded off the lesson by setting them the largest amount of Charms homework Lysandra had ever seen.
Transfiguration was the same, if not stricter.
"You cannot pass an OWL," said Professor McGonagall grimly. "Without serious application, practice, and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an OWL in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work. Despite the Tournament and the distraction bound to come, I am optimistic for all of you, including you, Miss Black."
This was the first time she'd been so expressly singled out in one of her OWLs classes, and the Fifth Years all swiveled to look at her. Several of the Gryffindors recognized her, Katie Bell, being one. After the Basilisk Incident, Oliver had been caught by Katie trying to persuade Lysandra to come back, and he'd had to explain to her what happened. The Chaser gave the girl a small wave.
"Miss Black is a Fourth Year," McGonagall told the class. "But she's taking several OWL classes this year. She will not be getting any special treatment because she is a year younger than most of you. Today, we are starting with Vanishing Spells. These are easier than Conjuring Spells, which you would not usually attempt until NEWT level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your Owl."
Professor McGonagall explained the theory briskly, as was her way, and demonstrated several times before she passed out snails to everyone and set them to work. The Vanishing Spell was difficult, but Lysandra had spent the summer with two highly capable wizards cleaning cobwebs and bugs out of her home and found that after about four tries, her snail did vanish.
"Excellent work, Miss Black." Professor McGonagall said, appeared beside her. "You did very well."
"Thank you, Professor."
By the end of the class, only three people had managed to vanish their snails – herself, Katie Bell, and one of the Ravenclaws – and everyone else was told to practice the spell overnight, and to be ready for a fresh attempt on their snails the following day.
Lunch was a quiet affair consisting of soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, and her afternoon Ancient Runes class flew by. Loaded with homework, Lysandra made her way to the library for her free period, thanking her Third-Year self that she hadn't taken a third elective.
Snape's twelve-inch essay was nearly done from the previous night, and the Charms homework wasn't due until Friday, but by the time the last bell of the day went, Lysandra was half finished it.
The next morning started with History of Magic with the Fourth Year Hufflepuffs, another OWL Transfiguration class, and then Herbology with the Hufflepuffs after lunch. She thankfully had another free period after Herbology, which she used to shower and finish her Charms homework.
Her first Defence Against the Dark Arts was a double lesson right after a morning of double OWL Potions and lunch. Most of the Gryffindors were looking forward to Moody's first lesson and were so excited that they showed up early before the bell had even rung.
Lysandra was not one of them, but she did arrive on time. Granger, however, was almost late. The Golden Trio hurried to three chairs right in front of the teacher's desk and took out their textbook, The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. The room waited with baited breath, unusually quiet for such a normally rambunctious group. Soon the sounds of Moody's distinctive clunking footsteps were heard coming down the corridor, and he entered the room with little fanfare, looking just as strange as ever.
"You can put those away." He growled at them, stumping over to his desk and sitting down. "Those books. You won't need them."
Books returned into bags, and Moody yanked a sheaf of parchment from his desk to take register. His normal eye moved down the paper as he read each name aloud, while his magical eye bounced from student to student as he called their names. It was still odd to Lysandra that she was one of the first called nowadays, instead of being somewhere in the middle.
"Right then," Moody said when the last person had declared themselves present. "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. It seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures – you've covered Boggarts, Red Caps, Hinkypunks, Grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"
A general murmur of assent flew through the room.
"But you're behind – very behind – on dealing with curses." He grumbled. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark-"
"What, aren't you staying!?" Weasley interrupted, causing Moody's magical eye to spin around to stare at him. Moody smiled, twisting his scarred face to look even more twisted and contorted than usual.
"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" Moody said. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago. Yeah, I'm staying just one year. Special favor to Dumbledore; one year and then back to my quiet retirement."
He gave a harsh laugh and then clapped his gnarled hands together.
"So, straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to show you counter-curses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in Sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it 'til then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."
Lavender Brown, who sat two desks in front of Lysandra, jumped and her cheeks went red. She had been showing Parvati Patil what looked to be her horoscope under the desk. Apparently, their new professor's magical eye could see through solid wood, as well as the back of his head.
"So, do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"
Several hands rose tentatively into the air, and Lysandra's was one of them. He pointed at Weasley, however.
"Er," Weasley said tentatively. "My dad told me about one. Is it called the Imperius Curse or something?"
"Ah yes." Moody nodded. "Your father would know about that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."
Their professor rose heavily to his feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar containing three large black spiders. Weasley leaned back, and Moody reached into the jar and caught one of the arachnids. He held it out so they could all see it, pointed his wand at the crawly thing, and muttered, "Imperio!"
The spider leaped from Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing back and forth as though it were on a trapeze. It stretched it's legs out stiffly, did a backflip, and landed on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider began to tap dance.
Almost everyone was laughing – except for Moody.
"Think that's funny, do you?" said Moody quietly, as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats… Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse. Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will."
"The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, and everyone jumped.
Moody picked up the Imperiused spider and threw it back into the jar. "Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"
Granger's hand flew into the air like usual, and most people's immense surprise so did Longbottom's. The only class Longbottom volunteered information was Herbology, which was his best subject.
"Yes?" Moody's magical eye focused on Neville.
"There's one – the Cruciatus Curse," Longbottom mumbled. Both of Moody's eyes were fixed on him now.
"Your name's Longbottom?" he said, the magical eye swooping down to check the register again. Longbottom nodded nervously, but the professor had no further inquiries as he turned back to the class at large. He plucked out another spider and placed it on the desktop, where it remained motionless, likely too scared to move.
"The Cruciatus Curse," he said. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea. Engorgio!"
The spider swelled until it was a bit larger than a tarantula. Weasley shoved his chair as far from Moody's desk as he could. Their professor raised his wand and pointed it at the spider.
"Crucio!"
All at once, the spider's legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but Lysandra knew that if it had been able to make noise, it would have been screaming. She'd seen the curse used before, accidentally, on one of the house elves at the Malfoy Manor. She's been four at the time, and she'd seen the poor thing twitching and screeching silently on the ground before she'd turned on her heel and fled to her brother's room, seeking comfort, the nightmare she'd had before she saw the house elf completely forgotten.
"Stop it!" Granger shrieked. Lysandra turned her eyes towards Granger, following the Muggleborn's sightline to Longbottom, who looked traumatized. Of course, Lysandra thought, he'd seen this curse used before too.
Moody raised his wand, and the spider relaxed but continued to twitch. "Reducio."
"Pain." He said quietly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse… that one was very popular once, too. Right, anyone else know any others?"
Lysandra's hand went into the air as he looked around and he focused his eyes on her, ignoring the hand Granger had raised into the air.
"Yes?"
"The Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra." She announced, her voice surprisingly calm after such a sight. Several people looked at her uneasily.
"Ah, yes." Moody's mouth twisted into another slight smile. "Yes, the last and the worst. You would know these wouldn't you, Miss Former-Malfoy."
She gave him a haughty look, ignoring the glares from the students surrounding her. "Black. My name is Lysandra Black, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm in Gryffindor."
"So was Sirius Black." He shot back, snatching the last spider from the jar with a little effort, as it kept trying to avoid his fingers. When he placed it on the desktop, it desperately tried to scuttle away. "Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of blinding green light burst from Moody's wand, and instantly, the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. Several of the girls stifled cries, Weasley had almost toppled himself off his seat, and Potter had gone pale. Lysandra observed this from her seat at the back of the room, blank-faced, but her stomach queasy. Moody swept the spider onto the floor.
"Not nice." He said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me."
Both of Moody's eyes dropped onto Potter, and everyone else followed suit. Potter's head remained fixed forward, likely so he could stare at the blackboard and pretend no one was staring at him.
"Avada Kedavra's a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it – you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nose-bleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it."
"Now, if there's no counter-curse, why am I showing you? Because you've got to know. You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roared, and the whole class jumped again.
"Now, those three curses – Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus – are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need to be prepared. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing, vigilance. Get out your quills, copy this down…"
The rest of the class was spent taking notes on the Unforgivable Curses, and nobody spoke until the bell rang. When it did, Lysandra packed up her things but didn't follow the stampede to leave. Longbottom took his time, still pale and trembling.
She'd reached out to him before, offering to tutor for Potions, but Longbottom didn't accept. She knew that she represented everything he was terrified of in her relatives.
"Longbottom?" she said quietly, rising to her feet, and gathering her bag. He jerked, turning his wide eyes to face her. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
He shook his head rapidly and rushed out the door. Lysandra sighed, and followed him out, heading quietly for dinner.
Longer chapter this time. Sorry for the wait! Please review, they motivate me.
