September 1994, 4th year

Draco was pining.

Lynea hadn't even known the word until Pansy had used it, but she was right. Draco was pining. He was sitting across the room, trying not to look at them, but his eyes always found Harry – sad and full of longing. Lynea amused herself with raising an eyebrow at Draco whenever he looked up from his book and over to them and then quickly went back to reading (or pretending to) when he realized she had noticed. He wanted to come over and talk to them. The others, all giving them furtive glances as well, were just curious about what they were doing and not as fun to tease.

Lynea had decided to teach Harry the Old Magics in the Slytherin Common Room, so that everyone would know – using a lot of privacy charms, of course. This way, they would not only be reminded of Lynea's abilities, but also be aware that Harry had access to them, that he was learning 'wandless and nonverbal magic', which most viewed as the most advanced and difficult kind of magic. (Lynea would never dissuade them from that belief, there were too many advantages in the misconceptions others had about the Old Magics.)

The first step, was for Harry to learn how to sense magic and how to tap into his inner magic without using his wand. He was having problems sensing the finer traces and all the spells and enchantments surrounding them, but made fast progress on how to 'see' the magic flowing through his own body. Lynea reckoned that she could start showing him to use his inner magic soon.

"Is he looking at us again?" Harry asked.

"Close your eyes, Harry," Lynea scolded gently. "You may open them once you can sense your magic without being distracted by visual impressions."

He sighed, but did as instructed. "How do you even know when I lose focus?"

"I can actually sense magic," Lynea said flatly. "Not in the way the Lémures can, who all do it subconsciously like a real seventh sense and have to actively supress it at times to not suffer from sensory overload. There you go. Now try to hold onto it, while you keep talking to me."

Harry hummed.

"Does thinking about Draco upset you?"

Harry slowly breathed out and in again, before answering. "No. I'm not angry anymore, just disappointed. Thanks to you, by the way."

"You do know that storming off is not a solution?"

"But it's easier than staying and calmly talking it out."

"It worked, didn't it?" Lynea smiled, knowing Harry couldn't see it. "Once classes start again on Monday, you should be able to keep your fight hidden from the other students, regardless of whether you have actually made up by then or not."

Harry furrowed his brows. "Is that the only reason you forced us to talk?"

"You are losing focus again." Lynea reached out to gently tap Harry's collarbone and send a jolt of magic through his body.

Harry flinched, but his reaction was less violent than the previous times. And while he didn't manage to control the flow of her foreign magic, nor his own to counteract, he did at least watch it spread and dissipate.

"Your fight does not concern me," Lynea continued. "I wouldn't have interfered, if I wasn't the 'leader' of our year – how I hate that word … Then again, if it wasn't for me, Draco would be and where would the two of you be, then?"

"Not talking," Harry said and he furrowed his brows again, when his inner magic flickered. "It does react to my emotions!"

Lynea snorted.

"Do you think Draco would have forced me into submission?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. That depends on how much your friendship is worth to him and how much he would have thought about the consequences of such an action before doing it in that moment. But that should not make an impact on your decision to forgive him."

Harry abruptly lost all his focus, let his magic flicker and coil and erupt inside himself, and opened his eyes to glare at Lynea. "He called the Weasley's blood traitors and Hermione a mudblood! I will not forgive him for that."

"You know he didn't mean that," Lynea said. "He only said it in the heat of the moment. It's just the nonsense his father is spouting at home." She sighed. "If we could get him to spend time with Hermione again without word getting back to his father, then I think he might think more about the things he says. The situation with the muggleborn is difficult – it's not like the purebloods' hatred is unfounded, but forcing them out can't be the solution. They have magic in their blood, they belong in our society. That means, however, that they should be integrated and not force the Muggle culture on us. Some might not be willing, but we won't know who is willing if we don't help them in the first place."

"That doesn't change the fact that Draco said those things – and he knew what he was doing."

"So you are not willing to forgive him?"

"Maybe, if he apologizes." Harry shrugged. "But that won't change the issue, unless it's sincere and he is willing to change." He narrowed his eyes. "I have the nagging feeling that you aren't actually any better than him. You're just hiding it better."

The corner of Lynea's mouth twitched. "I do not hate the muggleborn."

"Neither does Draco."

"How much did you struggle at first, because no one ever bothered to properly introduce you to our world and customs first?"

"A lot."

Lynea nodded. "Because there is no system in place that accommodates muggle-raised children. They either teach themselves or learn by observing or refuse to fit in. I understand that the traditions they grew up with are important to them and I do not mind if they share those. But I cannot condone muggle-raised witches and wizards trying to make us change and adapt to their customs by leaving our own behind. People like Dumbledore, who should know the truth and yet still sides with the muggle-raised, are even worse.

"Our traditions are not meaningless – they celebrate and honour our magic and our customs have been cultivated to support our magic in the best ways possible. The Muggle traditions and customs are of no use to us. It is bad enough that most have lost the ability to truly see magic, to sense it and use it in its purest form – without the need for wand nor incantation. If we lose our traditions on top of that … But no one ever explains that to the muggle-raised. Not even all that grow up in the magical world know anymore. Only the old families do and they, unfortunately, are almost all pureblood supremacists."

"See?" Harry said. "You really are better at talking your way out of it."

Lynea quirked one corner of her mouth into a half-smile. "Yet it was your best friend you had a fight with and are unwilling to forgive, while you seem to be perfectly fine talking with me."

Harry pursed his lips. "Draco is not my best friend. You are."

"I would describe our bond as more of a familial one."

"That, too."

"Have you sufficiently calmed now?" Lynea asked. "Then please close your eyes and start focussing again."

o

The upper years, who had already had their first lessons with Professor Moody, were all either very impressed or very terrified or both. But no one wanted to tell what had transpired. Lynea and Draco (Harry was still not talking to him, but that didn't stop Lynea) both wondered whether the ex-Auror would be biased towards them because of their Death Eater parents or smart enough to realize children were not responsible for their parents' actions. Of all the Death Eater children in their year, only Lynea's father had actually been caught and imprisoned. Everyone else had escaped the law one way or another.

Since the other Slytherins wouldn't say anything, they tried finding out by watching every interaction between Professors Moody and Snape – the latter had once been a Death Eater, after all. But Snape seemed to do his best to avoid Moody at all costs, wouldn't even look him in the eyes. He was also rather irritable during Potions, which did not bode well for the Gryffindors. Neville barely managed not to melt his cauldron and escape detention – after three years of experience with Snape, extensive tutoring and practice, Lynea expected nothing less of him – but some of his housemates were not so lucky.

The first thing Professor Moody did, was telling them to put away their books and then taking the register. Every time he called out a name, his magical eye would fix on the person that answered, while his normal one stayed on the scroll. Maybe Lynea was imagining things, but she thought he let his gaze linger on the Death Eater children for longer than the others. And Harry. Definitely Harry.

"You're behind on dealing with curses," Moody told them gruffly. "So I've got one year to bring you up to scratch, before I can go back to my well-deserved retirement."

Lynea glanced over at Pansy and saw her eyes widen and her mouth form the words 'but the Jinx'.

Moody, meanwhile, continued his introductions on curses and how he thought only teaching them counter-curses was rubbish and that he didn't care what the Ministry said, he would show them real curses anyway.

"I'm sure your lot knows which curses are the most heavily punished by wizarding law. So, who wants to go first?"

The Slytherins glanced at each other, then some of them at Lynea, who gave them an impassive look. Eventually, Daphne raised her hand.

"That would be the three Unforgivable Curses, sir – the Imperius Curse, The Cruciatus Curse and the Killing Curse."

"That is correct," Moody said and then barked, "Malfoy! What can you tell me about the Imperius Curse?"

Draco flinched. "The … Imperius, when cast successfully, allows the caster to completely control their victim, make them do all kinds of things whether they want to or not."

"Yes," Moody said darkly. "I suspect your father would know all about it, wouldn't he? Having claimed to have been one of the victims of this curse." He turned his attention from Draco back to the whole class. "Many witches and wizards were under the influence of the Imperius Curse back during the war. Many more claimed they were, but there was no way for the Ministry to prove whether that was actually true. They couldn't just put everyone under Veritaserum and certain families," and here his magical eye swivelled around to Lynea, "refused to help them out."

Lynea raised her hand and waited for Moody to finish staring at her before he nodded. "The Lémures, whom I am currently not a part of, make a point to stay neutral in every conflict. They do not involve themselves with any matters of the living as long as they can avoid it."

"Hmph, but I heard a rumour they have been involving themselves in matters of the life-and-death kind lately."

Lynea consciously relaxed her hands from gripping her robes under the table, before answering. "One individual was involved in a murder and the Ministry has requested further assistance. It seems," there was a chilliness seeping into her voice that Lynea could not help, "that the Ministry officials are too weak of heart for certain … horrors, and one of the Lémures has kindly agreed to clean up those scenes in their stead."

Moody stared at her for a moment longer, then abruptly turned his back to her and took out a glass jar with several spiders from his desk drawer. He fished out one of the spiders, pointed his wand at it and put it under Imperio, then forced it to do silly things like doing acrobatics hanging from a thread and dancing on the table, jerking its legs and doing cartwheels.

No one was laughing.

"You're not the first to grasp the seriousness of this right away," Moody said. "Some of my classes found it funny at first, not realizing what this curse could do to you. I'll be teaching you how to fight this curse, but not everyone will be strong-willed enough to do it. Better avoid being hit altogether if you can. Constant vigilance!"

Half the class flinched, but only Tracey actually jumped in her seat.

Moody picked up the spider and put it back into the jar, taking out a different one. "Another one, then. Crabbe, how about you? Mind explaining the Cruciatus Curse? Engorgio."

The spider in his hand grew to the size of a tarantula and those sitting in the second row (the first was empty) leaned back as far as they could.

"It tortures," Vincent said. "It causes great pain."

Moody nodded. The spider did not make any noises – could spiders even do that? – but it twitched and twisted and everyone could see how much it suffered. The Cruciatus Curse was, by far, not the worst out there. The Mutilatio Curse was a great example. The Ministry was too close-minded to realize or admit to that. But it was bad enough.

Moody let it go on long enough that nearly everyone had averted or closed their eyes by the time he stopped the curse, reduced the spider to its original size and put it back in the jar, where it lay motionless amidst the other, crawling spiders.

"And now the last one. The Killing Curse." His voice was uncharacteristically soft and he fixed his eyes on Harry and Lynea this time – the normal one on Lynea, the magical one on Harry. "Avada Kedavra."

A single flash of blinding green light and the third spider he had taken out was dead in an instant.

Lynea couldn't help the shudder that went through her – not of horror, but of pleasure. It was a tiny thing, that spider, but there was power in every death. And Lynea knew, in that instant, that she would never be able to like and respect Moody. Death was sacred and he had dishonoured Him by taking a life.

"Not nice," Moody said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no counter-curse. Only one person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me."

Lynea nearly laughed out loud at the way he had emphasised 'survived' and looked at her with his magical eye. Necromancers did not fear Death, they worshipped Him, and in return He often saw fit to grant them immorality. But for that they had to die first – truly die – and they led an undead existence henceforth. They could not be killed anymore, after that, because they were technically already dead. No, not even a Necromancer could survive the Killing Curse.

Now Moody had both of his eyes trained on Harry, who was staring back with wide eyes, several emotions crossing over his face. He continued staring, even after Moody had continued on and started explaining the three Unforgivable Curses and their background more, so Lynea suspected Harry was thinking about the night the Killing Curse had spared his life. His parents had both died that night, she remembered, and normal people mourned the dead, especially family – even when they had never met them.

"Constant vigilance!" Moody yelled and several people flinched again.

It was good training, Lynea supposed, to keep them alert. One should always be alert, even in a friendly environment. Not that Hogwarts was always all that friendly …

Professor Moody had them take notes on the Unforgivable Curses for the rest of the lesson and all of the Slytherins dutifully did as told and then left the classroom in a subdued silence. They did not start talking until they had reached the safety of their common room.

"That wasn't terrifying at all," Draco said dryly. "I thought he was going to accuse us all of being Death Eaters any minute."

Harry pushed past him and went to the stairs leading to the boys' dormitories.

"Harry?" Lynea called.

Harry turned to make a dismissive gesture and started heading to the stairs again, then seemed to think better of it and said, "I need a moment," over his shoulder.

Draco sighed. "I can't even imagine what he must be going through." He sighed again. "And I can't go and comfort him, because he's mad at me."

"That's your own fault, though," Lynea said, settling on one of the couches.

"I know," Draco said sadly. "And I'm working on it. But it's bloody difficult."

As usual, Theodore sat down beside Lynea, while Draco took one of the armchairs. The others all decided to join them.

"So," Pansy said, "at least he didn't try to murder you guys. Or arrest you or anything. The worst he did was imply that Draco's father might have lied about being under the influence of the Imperius."

"The worst?" Tracey said in a trembling voice. "Did you not see what he did to those spiders? You need to really want it for those curses to work, he said so himself."

"I wonder what he was thinking about," Lynea mused. "I can't imagine him hating spiders so much."

Draco snorted. "Death Eaters. Might have been thinking about our parents or some of the people he put behind the bars, himself."

"You know," Lynea said thoughtfully. "Interestingly enough, he seemed to be focused more on my connection to the Lémures than the fact that my father is a confirmed Death Eater."

"Might be because your father is in Azkaban and therefore can't groom you to follow in his footsteps," Draco said and then gulped. "Do you think he knows the truth about my father? About all our fathers?"

Lynea briefly wondered how many mothers had ever joined the Dark Lord's ranks and how many had merely supported their husbands from the safety of their homes.

"He is certainly suspicious," she replied. "But he is also known for being paranoid and he's retired. So I don't think we have to worry for now."

"But we will have to worry when the Dark Lord returns," Theodore said with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "That's what you mean, isn't it?"

Lynea inclined her head. "We will have to worry about a lot of things, when that time comes."