Chapter Five: Academic Ways of Life

19th of December, 1993

A cold north wind was blowing that day, prying carelessly tied scarves off peoples necks and sending them fluttering into the sky. Droves of snow had piled up during the past week and the march to Hogsmeade was slow going as the six of them slogged through the snow, now up to their knees.

"You know," gasped Juliette Yaxley, her cheeks rosy with effort. "They really should have given us carriages for the trip. These are such… mugglish methods."

"Muggleish, really?" said Prongs, a small smile on her narrow face. She was carefully following Juliette, stepping precisely into her footprints.

"Easy for you to say, you don't have me clearing the way," snapped Juliette, spinning around and giving her a rather unpleasant glare.

"Less talking more walking," grunted Montague. "Not gonna miss out a spot at the Broomsticks 'cause of you."

Juliette opened her mouth to let out what would have probably been a rather nasty reference to Montague's bloodline, but Cato coughed into his glove and she looked up at him before rolling her eyes. "Oh fine, let's just- You know what, nevermind." She threw up her hands and marched on with renewed vigor, while Prongs traded a small grin with Cato.

The sun was still but a pale disc of washed-out gold hidden behind a gauze of mist when they arrived in the village, but the Three Broomsticks was already buzzing merrily, golden light spilling forth and merriment apparently in the dozen students already inside.

As they approached, Cato stopped and waved them ahead. "Save me a seat," he called as he turned towards the post office. "I have a letter to send." As his friends trudged on, he looked after them for a moment, a smile pulling at his lips. Five years now, since the first day he sat with them on the train. They had each grown up so fast that he sometimes forgot that they were still children beneath their veneer of mannerisms and make believe maturity that Slytherin and high society seemed to impose upon them. Yaxley, who tried so hard to be like her mother, Montague who grown a thick skin and a bullish sense of apathy. Even Prongs, witty and ever ready to laugh at someone else's misfortune. They were good company.

The Post Office was full of gentle hoots and the soft rustle of lazy wings and as he entered, dozens of golden and amber eyes tracked his steps up to one of the many booths at the end of the office. Each one was separated from its neighbor by two partitions of old, splintering wood upon which hung an assortment of envelopes of all sizes. On the table lay parchment and in front of him upon the wall were a list, ranging from Ottery St. Catchpole to Stamford On Bridge.

Cato leaned down and grabbed a quill, dipping it into black ink, he began to write in a careful, stilted manner, every letter as different from his natural handwriting as he could possibly make it. It was Harry Potter's third year at Hogwarts, it was time to speak to Dumbledore.

The letter ended up being shorter and vaguer than he had imagined, but he shivered to think of what might happen if any real details fell into the wrong hands. Leaning up, Cato looked down upon his work.

"Your theories about what connects Tom & Him are correct. There are Seven, counting Him."

He paused for a moment. To sign it, or to leave it bare? Would leaving it bare cause Dumbledore too much concern about who may hold the information? In the end, he smiled and simply struck down the name of his own Patronus, which he had so carefully taught himself the year before. Fox. What would Dumbledore make of that?

Professor Lupin's classes were a favorite amongst all years, from what Cato could see. Even the Slytherins, who turned up their noses at his shabby clothes and refined attitude would acknowledge it from within the safety of the common room. Yet today marked a special day. Today Lupin had elected to have a boggart passed around his various years as a display of a rather unique and potentially traumatic creature. "Mine will probably be a mudblood," said Juliette Yaxley with a hint of pride in her voice.

Cato rolled his eyes and glanced Pucey's way, where his friend was looking uncharacteristically troubled, his pale face shadowed and his reserved expression twisted with concern. It was a concern Cato felt deep in his belly as well, mixed with the killing sort of curiosity that made people put their hand to the flame to see if it hurt.

"Hey, Pucey, you alright?" he said, dropping a hand on the boy's shoulder. Pucey started and looked up, a pale mimicry of a smile on his lips.

"Of course, it's just a boggart."

Cato nodded and straightened as Lupin approached and the excited chatter of the shared Gryffindor and Slytherin class faded away. They followed the tired looking man into his classroom, where a large space had been cleared for the days lesson. "Good morning," said Lupin with a smile. "You are all familiar with the creature locked away in this cabinet, aren't you?"

A murmur of assent trickled through the room. "Good, good. However, despite learning of it in third year, you were never exposed to it, I believe." Another rippled of nods crossed the room and Cato even caught Fred and George looking intently at Lupin, their attention diverted from this or that vicious prank for once. "Well," continued Lupin, "I believe in a practical application of all knowledge. Who wishes to go first?"

A heavy, expectant silence descended upon the room, then Angelina Johnson stepped forward with her jaw set. "I'll go."

Lupin smiled. "Five points to Gryffindor." Then he flicked his wand through the air and the cabinet clicked open with a creak. "Remember, ridikulus!" But when the boggart appeared, it was lying on the ground and a few shrieks erupted from the crowd of students. Even Cato grimaced as he took in Angelina's shattered corpse, draped in quidditch robes. Her body was twisted and broken, glassy eyes staring up emptily, bones like jagged white knives stabbing flash… The real Angelina was staring at it with horrified eyes, but somehow, she managed to pull a node of steel from deep within and with a crisp movement of her wand, she snapped, "Ridikulus!" And suddenly the boggart jumped up, grinning. "Pranked!" it called. "There was a camera all along!"

Some of the students laughed uneasily and Lupin gave Angelina an encouraging smile as she stepped back. "Excellent job, Miss Johnson, truly excellent. Fred!" The boy jumped forward with a determined look on his face and the boggart warped. Suddenly, Fred was lying on the ground, dead… But was that Fred? The real one was staring at the floor, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Then he shook himself and glared at the creature. "Ridikulus!" And fake George was now rolling on the floor and laughing. "Gottem!" he yelled. It was far more disturbing than funny.

The class continued at a frenetic pace, and it turned out that Juliette's greatest fear was not mudbloods, but thestrals, of all things. "Good, good!" called Lupin as the thestral turned pink and the class laughed. "Pucey!"

Beside Cato, the boy took a deep breath and stepped forward, his hands shaking. The atmosphere was jovial now, the last truly terrible fear a half-hour ago and forgotten in the excitement of the class. But as Pucey approached, the boggart changed to a tall, thin man with hollow cheeks and a ragged beard. His face was ruddy with drink and in one hand he held a belt, while in the other he wielded a bottle. "C'mere, boy! Or you'll get some, just like your mam!"

The room went deathly silent and even Lupin seemed frozen in place, eyes round with shock. Did he really not think of this as a possibility when he introduced the lesson? thought Cato viciously as he stepped forward to intercept the boggart. But Pucey was already casting. "Ridikulus," he said in a flat voice.

"I said-!" roared the man, but then it choked, coughed and fell to its knees, grabbing at its throat. A gurgle escaped its lips as a red line drew itself across its throat and blood began to pour from it in dark, gruesome sheets. Pucey was looking at it with a shattered smile on his face, all teeth and bloodless lips and cruel satisfaction and for a moment, he looked as little human as the boggart. Without waiting for Lupin's prompt, Cato stepped forward and shoved Pucey back, steeling himself to see Draco, or his parents dead on the floor… Or perhaps even the Dark Lord himself…

The man in front of him was deathly pale and so thin as to appear skeletal, as if his body were devouring itself. Dark robes swathed his body, but his left arm was bare and upon it was an ugly tattoo… A dark mark. His hands were coated in blood, his robes torn and splattered with viscera. When Cato finally looked him in the eyes , a horrible realization settled deep in his gut, like a drop of poison burning its way through him. They were his eyes, empty, yet filled with a chasm of pain that engulfed everything, every thought. "You failed," whispered the boggart. And as Cato stared at himself, his bloody forcing its way through his veins until every limb trembled, he realized he could think of absolutely nothing amusing in this scenario.

Lupin must have felt it, for he stepped forward, his own boggart appearing with a gentle pop. He looked pale and shaken and was avoiding Cato's gaze, but Cato hardly noticed it. He felt like he had been punched, every layer of his soul stripped away and laid bare until it was all raw and fresh and painful. But he forced himself to look cool, untroubled and aloof when Lupin dismissed them early, urging them to go outside and savor the sunlight. He ignored or sneered at any whispers and comments and together with Pucey, soldiered through the next week until the gossip began to fade.

And on the rare occasion where he was startled awake by the image of himself, older and ruined, if he saw Pucey sitting in his bed with his back against the wall, then neither made a mention of it, and the quiet weight of their wakefulness kept the other company until one after the other they tumbled back to sleep.

"Ah, Severus," said Dumbeldore, only too gladly lifting his attention from that maddeningly mysterious scrap of parchment he had received but a few short days ago. It told him nothing new, but confirmed all his suspicions, and terrified him everytime he considered who else had this information? Whoever it was, they had almost certainly taken a devilish pleasure in knowing that Dumbledore would be no more helped by having it signed with Fox as a starving hippogriff would be by a pile of hay. So Snape, his face foreboding and an old tome in his hand was a welcome sight. "What has Mr. Potter done this time?"

Snape opened his mouth, then closed it and gave Dumbledore an annoyed look. "This isn't about the Potter brat," he said. "It's about Cato Malfoy."

"Cato Malfoy," murmured Dumbledore, running a hand along his chin. "A quiet, well-mannered and competent student from what I have been told." And who's greatest fear had been the dark mark. Now that had been an interesting tidbit to learning of.

"It is not his attitude I am concerned about," said Snape, walking over to the desk and slamming the book down onto it. A few portraits muttered in protest at the sound. "It is his reading material." The grimoire was an old thing, weather-beaten and moldy on the edges. A barely legible rune was inscribed onto its front, which various academics had theorized either meant 'War' or 'Happiness', depending on how psychotic you considered the anonymous author to be. Dumbledore knew it, of course, and he let out a small breath as the painful memories of the way in which he had acquired it all those long years ago came flooding back. It had been necessary, of course, to keep it away from unenlightened hands, but he had never found it in himself to destroy it.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and look up at Snape. "Why don't you tell me what happened, Severus."

"I've told you before that he needs to be watched, Albus. There is something not quite right with this boy."

Dumbledore held up a hand. "Severus, tell me what happened."

Snape's lips thinned, but he nodded. "I found him reading it in the restricted area. He was in the Charms section, in the shallow end. I recognized it immediately -of course." Of course. Cato Malfoy would not be the first one to seek out methods of violence within the restricted section, though few were so oddly persistent as to find these books, squirreled away as they were deep, deep within its labyrinthine corridors. "He had been taking notes," continued Snape. "Banished them when I approached."

"A suitably impressive spell, for a fifth year, don't you think?" said Dumbledore mildly. Snape did not appear to appreciate his humor. Instead, he slipped open the book with a thud and pointed at a specific page.

Dumbledore winced. "He was learning about the Inquisitor's Kiss, Albus. Do you know who else had a partiality for that spell?" Said Snape fiercely, a haunted look in his eyes. "Because I do. I can remember very clearly."

Dumbledore had been one of the first on the scene of the Prewitt twins' murder, and the images of it were like sand-paper to his mind. Their bodies had been charred and twisted beyond recognition, blackened from the inside out as an agonizingly slow fire burned from their core outwards, abating only in death. Even now, he could almost smell their boiled flesh, and hear Molly Weasley's screams as her husband held her back from seeing their mutilated corpses.

He nodded slowly. "I understand your point, Severus."

"The boy is dangerous, or he will be, soon. He knows things that Draco is certainly not privy to in the Malfoy family, and clearly expects the Dark Lord's return, as you do."

"He fears it," said Dumbledore.

But Snape only rewarded him with a terrible sneer and a look of disgust. "They all do, but none will dare to refuse the call when it comes."

"And what would you have me do, Severus? Abduct the boy, expel him, ban him from library? All that would do is alienate a talented boy even further. Much as I may want to, I cannot spare a child from their own family." And Dumbledore was not so quick to discord the boys bogart. Fear of ones master and a deep, crushing fear of being bound in servitude were two different matters entirely. And something told him that Cato Malfoy would play a far different role than was expected of him, before the end. Snape did not insist on the issue, favoring instead to throw a final look of disgust at Dumbledore before storming out, leaving the heavy book on his desk, staring back at Dumbledore like some foul, virulent blemish.

Cato entered his charms OWL with the confidence of someone whose talent was born of something more than study. As always, his name had dictated that he would go at about the middle of the day and as he entered, he noticed a small collection of students at the edge of the room, watching. The tradition had surprised and confused him at first, since most students fled the examination room like convicts being spared from the kiss. But some more intellectually oriented students would stay and watch those who came after. Cato preferred to call them nosy, for how could anyone truly care about someone else's exams? It seemed absurd to him.

But he pushed their curious gazes aside and focused on the instructor before him. An old man smiled back at him from behind the desk. "Mr. Malfoy," said the man. "My name is Ian Dernsmith. Professor Flitwick did tell me to keep an eye on you."

"Not for any mischief, I hope," said Cato with a polite smile.

"Oh no, not at all!" Ian leaned forward and winked. "Called you one of his best, but don't let him hear that I said that."

Cato felt a little flush of pride run through his veins. He had worked hard to earn that praise. "I wouldn't dream of it, sir."

The initial part of the test went well, and Cato through the basic material with a contemptuous ease that he made no effort to hide. His rat turned a violent shade of orange, his levitating charm was flawless… But then events took a turn for the unexpected. Dernsmith gave him a challenging look and took out a handful of knuts from his pocket, scattering them across the table. "Change their color to golden in as few spells as possible." He smiled and Cato returned it with a sharp, easy thing.

"Proteus," he incanted, twisting and flicking his wand in a complex pattern above the pile. Ian's eyebrows rose and somewhere to his left a few furious murmurs erupted from the spectators. He had been challenged, and Cato would make no effort to hide his talent, or show off a little. Charms had been his best subject since their first year, and he had done more than a little extracurricular study for it. With a jab of his wand, Cato changed the color of one coin and in unison they call shifted to the galleons inviting golden sheen.

Dernsmith leaned back after inspecting them and shook his head slowly, before clapping his hands together once, twice, thrice, the sound echoing in the silent hall. "Incredible," he said, smiling widely. "Truly incredible… Such mastery of a subject- At only fifteen… You have impressed me." Then he hesitated and checked a heavy golden pocket watch. "Hm, yes. One more question then, for extra credit." He seemed to be enjoying himself nearly as much as Cato. "I wonder… What else do you have squirreled away in that head of yours?" The question hung in the air, as much a challenge as the first, and Cato felt that his demonstration of the protean charm had significantly upped Dernsmith's expectations. He needed to cast something more, something that would make him sweat and struggle, if he were to impress the man.

"There is one thing," he said after a long moment. He licked his lips and glanced at the crowd. It was not something he had practiced in front of an audience before. The spell had been hidden in an old esoteric book about violins, buried beneath a pile of equally old books in a corner of the library. Maintaining the spell for even a handful of seconds had been a challenge that had made his head ache to the point of distraction. Still, Cato lifted his wand and said the long incantation, watching closely until he was certain by Dernsmith's blank look that the spell was unfamiliar to him.

Finally, he brought his wand down and closed his eyes, focusing only on the piece, the melody. He visualized it and let the charm read off of it like sheet music. Crystalline notes of music filled the air, so fragile and tenuous that it was almost as if drawing a breath might shatter them. The music of a single violin, played to perfection swelled around him, warming the cold stone room with its quality, until the walls themselves seemed to vibrate with each note, straining against their mortar.

But then Cato's focus slipped. A small itch on his leg, a muffled sound from beyond the room… It mattered not. The notes trailed off like silk scarves caught in the wind and torn away. He opened his eyes and the world was grey again. Dernsmith was staring up at him from his seat, his old eyes moist and his hands clasped in front of him as if in prayer. A small tremor shook the instructor and he sighed. The other students were staring at him with a mixture of shock and confusion and Angelina Johnson was looking like she had never properly seen him before, her eyes intense enough to make Cato look away.

"How?" said Dernsmith in a quiet voice, as if he feared disturbing what was left of the music's magic.

"It is an old charm, sir," said Cato in muted tones. "Composers would use it to put sound to their sheet music and gain an idea of how it might actually be played by the orchestra."

"And yet you have no music with you," said Dernmsith.

"No sir." Cato smiled at him innocently and refused to elaborate until the older man rolled his eyes and waved a hand at him.

"Oh very well, you deserved it. How did you do it?"

"I found that with enough familiarity with the instrument and the piece, I could hold it in my memory for a while, to the same effect."

"Brilliant, simply brilliant," said Dernsmith, sighing and making a few notes. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, I think you do not need to worry about your grades for this OWL. But I doubt I am telling you anything you did not already know."

Cato was still fresh from the success of his OWLS when the rumors began to dance down the Slytherin table, whispers leaving behind thin contrails of horror and shock. Heads ben, the clamor grew and Cato saw Lupin suddenly rise from his seat at the High Table and hurry down the hall, his gaze fixed on the door, his face blank as paper.

"A werewolf?" whispered Juliette in shock, her eyes almost round. "Dumbledore let a werewolf teach us?"

Beside her, McCraven nodded eagerly, sporting a sneer on her face. "Yeah, gross!"

"Never mind that tripe, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" said Juliette, flapping a dismissive hand in McCraven's face. Across from them, Prongs shrugged, nibbling on her toast with a look of serenity on her face.

"Well, it was obvious, wasn't it?" she said.

"You knew?" asked Cato with interest. He felt bad for the werewolf, but it was probably for the best that he left now.

"Of course," said Priscilla, a small smile playing around her lips. "All the potion ingredients for Wolfsbane kept disappearing from Professor Snape's reserves."

Juliette was looking back and forth between them with an increasingly flummoxed expression. Finally, outrage at being left out of the know seemed to win out. "Not all of us have private advanced lessons with Snape, Prongs. Though I wonder what he advances…"

Prongs blushed a deep scarlet, her pale cheeks turning blotchy. "It's not like that!" she snarled.

"But you wish it were, I'll warrant," continued Juliette with the relentless drive of a shark smelling blood. Thankfully, Cato was spared from the rest of the theater by a school owl dropping a scrap of parchment in his plate. He snatched it up before it could soak up the grease from his sausage and read the messy scrawl.

My office, now, if you will. -Lupin

Folding it carefully, Cato rose and stowed it in his pocket.

"What was that about?" asked Juliette, temporarily distracted.

"None of your business," said Cato dismissively before turning to Pucey, who was looking up at him curiously. "I will see you at the usual spot?" The boy nodded. They had taken to meeting up for some dueling practice the year before, and the tradition had continued despite persistent rumors of other activities. Pucey challenged him in a way he hadn't felt since Van Zee had left. What he lacked in skill and knowledge, he made up with guile and raw determination that often pushed Cato out of his comfort zone.

When Cato arrived at Lupin's office, it was still in that state of particular disarray that every leaving person invited through the door. The desk was strewn with layers of papers and the floor covered in garments, while the trunk was still despairingly empty. At Cato pushed open the door, Lupin appeared from the bedroom and gave Cato a reserved smile.

"I'm somewhat surprised you took up my invitation, Mr. Malfoy," he said, dumping an armful of clothes into his trunk.

Cato shrugged. "You were an excellent professor. It would have felt impolite."

"Even now?"

"Now more than ever," replied Cato firmly. "Your affliction means very little to me."

Lupin gave him a long look, a hand resting on a sheaf of papers. "How different…" he trailed off but the implication was clear. How different you are from your father. It was not a reminder Cato particularly appreciated and he frowned, but Lupin seemed lost in thought, and by the time he escaped his own mind, Cato had masked his expression. "Would you feel insulted if I asked you to help a tired man pack?"

An odd, new feeling warmed Cato's cheeks and he looked away as he realized he was feeling rather embarrassed. "I never learned any housekeeping or packing charms, or anything of such a sort… House elves, you see."

"Of course," said Lupin graciously. "Your hands would be perfectly well adapted to organizing these papers." He pointed to some old reports and magazines on the desk.

A singular sort of silence slunk into the room after that, as they both busied themselves, Cato refusing to let slip the question that now burnt his tongue. Why was he here? Most of the papers were notes about classes, essays or various administrative forms, but as he stacked it all up, he found a very particular paper. A paper he had only released from his own possession that November. A black parchment neatly folded and worn with age. He hadn't realized he had been staring at it until Lupin cleared his throat, a carefully blank look in his eyes.

Cato raised an eyebrow and held it from a corner. "Curious thing to hold on to."

"Consider it a souvenir of times past," said his professor neutrally. "You can leave it there."

He did, but the atmosphere had shifted, polite acknowledgement moving to something more guarded, that hinted at unspoken words sitting heavily on unwilling tongues. Lupin took the first step, in the end. "When I saw your boggart- A few months ago," he added.

"I remember," said Cato tightly, his hands stilling and his gaze becoming fixed. It was hard to forget.

"That is the fear of someone who knows things as they truly are." A heavy sigh. "Ah, I don't think I'm making sense."

"You are," said Cato shortly. It was the fear of someone who knows the nasty side of the war, and then knows once more, a two-fold sort of knowledge that peeled away the glamor of conflict and betrayed the personal damage it wrought upon the individual stories hidden in the larger narratives.

"In a sense, a boggart reveals not only one's deepest fears, but one's true nature. At least in some, in those who find a fear that echoes with something deep within them." Lupin was standing in front of him now, his face serious. "For that reason I would like you to know that if ever you need a place to stay, know that my door is open."

His words struck a chord in Cato's heart, and he felt a tug in his chest for this man aged beyond reason. He opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp knock on the door stalled his words, and for that he was rather thankful. Any thanks to such an offer would have felt hollow.

"Enter," said Lupin after glancing at Cato once more.

The door burst open. "Professor, is it- What are you doing here?" Harry Potter's words tumbled out of his mouth in one torrent and Cato only returned his consternation with a cool look before turning back to Lupin. "I will keep your offer in mind, Professor."

A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.