September 7th, 1990
Twelve-year-old Cynthia Malfoy walked briskly to the lavatory. She was eager to get back to her friends. They were celebrating Adrian and Graham being picked for the Quidditch team, and she didn't want her friends to wait too long.
Entering the lavatory, she hurried into a stall, hoping to be in and out quickly. But just as she was about to leave, the door to the washroom banged open, and she heard someone sobbing loudly. Cynthia froze, feeling unsure of what to do. She decided to stay quiet, hoping the girl would leave soon.
But it seemed like Lady Luck wasn't on her side today because moments later, another girl followed inside, her footsteps echoing against the tile floor. "Emma, are you okay?"
"No, I'm not," the first girl, Emma, replied between sobs. "I got another letter from my family. I'm so tired of this. It's been five years and yet they're so... How could they still think I'm possessed? That being a witch is an act of evil?"
Cynthia's eyes widened as she listened. She couldn't help feel like she was intruding on something very personal even though there was nowhere for her to go without making this awkward.
"I'm really sorry Emma. They really said that to you in the letter?" the second girl asked, her voice full of disbelief.
"No, they didn't have to say it. It's all there between the lines," Emma replied, her voice breaking. "You've seen how religious they are. It's been five years since we found out I was a witch, how could they still think this is all the devil's work?! They've never tried to accept or comprehend the fact that I'm a witch. They still think it's unnatural. I just... I don't know what to do anymore. I don't want to write back to them because I'm afraid that it will only make things worse."
Cynthia's heart sank. She had always been taught that Muggle-borns were inferior, but hearing this made her think about the complexity of the issue. While her father's warnings about how Muggles hated witches rang true, Emma's situation showed a different side. She didn't know how she didn't think about how Muggle-borns were also victims during that time. How they must've had it worse because they lived among those who sought to harm and persecute them, making them easy targets.
It got her thinking: if Muggle-borns were treated so horribly, much like witches and wizards in the past, why would they ever reveal their secrets to Muggles? The thought left her feeling unsettled.
Over the next few weeks, Cynthia became more withdrawn, lost in her thoughts. She started to watch Muggle-borns and half-bloods with Muggle parents more closely. She paid particular attention to their reactions when they received letters from home. Most of them seemed happy, eagerly reading their mail and smiling. Cynthia especially watched her roommate, Erin, who had a Muggle father, but she always seemed content when she received letters from her father. She compared these reactions to Emma, who would frown whenever a letter arrived from home.
Cynthia thought about the witch hunts and trials that took place around the world. How some countries and religions had historically persecuted magical people. However, those events had occurred centuries ago. Observing her classmates, it seemed that the majority of Muggles were now accepting of their magical children. They didn't seem to bear any of the hatred or fear that her father had always warned her about. Emma's parents appeared to be the exception, not the rule.
This made Cynthia question the fairness of blaming Muggles for the actions of their ancestors. Was it right to hold modern Muggles accountable for events that happened so long ago? Was there any sense in harboring prejudice against people who had no part in those historical injustices? Cynthia began to see the hypocrisy in the beliefs her family held against Muggles. Blaming them for the witch hunts of the past was as nonsensical as her father's hatred towards them in the present.
Growing up, Cynthia had accepted her family's opinion that Muggles and Muggle-borns didn't belong in the wizarding world. She had been taught that Muggle-borns weakened the magical bloodline and posed a danger by existing between two worlds. Yet, observing her classmate Ingrid Stevens, a Ravenclaw Muggle-born, disproved these notions. Ingrid's magical performance in class was impeccable, challenging the idea that Muggle-borns were inferior in any way.
All these realisations did nothing but make her feel increasingly conflicted. She didn't know whom to trust—her family or the evidence before her own eyes. The more she thought about it and examined the world around her, the more confused she became. Her friends noticed her change in mood and tried to get her to open up, but she insisted that everything was fine. Even her parents picked up on her distant behaviour through her letters, but she reassured them that nothing was wrong.
The turning point came one afternoon after her Transfiguration class. Cynthia stayed behind to speak with Professor McGonagall, as she often did, to ask questions about the lesson. Transfiguration had always been her weakest subject, and she needed extra help to stay on top.
When she left the classroom, she came across her cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, who was also alone in the corridor. Her cousin was rarely by herself. She was always surrounded by her friends, popular due to her friendly personality and frequent pranks on the professors using her Metamorphmagus powers.
It felt like fate was gently nudging Cynthia to talk to her, to seek her help. But she knew doing such a thing would be akin to betrayal to her mother. Whenever Cynthia heard her mother talk about her childhood, she always spoke fondly of her sister Andromeda, which is why it hurt so much when her aunt abandoned their beliefs and went to marry a Muggle-born.
Cynthia also knew there was a chance Tonks could completely disregard her and tell her to leave her be, but a small part of her didn't think that would happen. She had seen Tonks' kind side, the way she stood up for others, and the warmth she radiated even when she was causing mischief. That small, hopeful part of her believed that Tonks would listen.
So, squaring her shoulders and gathering all of her bravery, Cynthia walked towards Tonks.
September 27, 1994
Ferret Frenzy at Hogwarts: Mad-Eye Moody's Misconduct Unleashed!
[PICTURE]
Fourth-year Slytherin, Draco Malfoy, 14, is transfigured into a white ferret against his will on September 2nd in the Transfiguration Courtyard of Hogwarts.
It seems that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is not without its scandals, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. This time, it involves none other than the infamously paranoid-Auror Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody and the revered Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Moody, a seasoned Auror known for his paranoid demeanour, has been caught red-handed in an outrageous display of power abuse.
Recently, Moody was accused of student misconduct and set on a probation period of one month by the Board of Governors, after much protest from the reigning Headmaster, who called for acquittal. In the anonymous photograph below, Moody can be seen transfiguring a student into a ferret and bouncing him around mercilessly. Yes, you read that correctly—a student! The unfortunate victim was none other than Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student, who was subjected to this barbaric treatment in front of his peers. The evidence accompanying this article leaves little room for Dumbledore to defend his choice of staff.
[PICTURE]
Hogwarts Professor, Alastor Moody, 64, torments a transfigured student in capital punishment on Sept. 2 in the Transfiguration Courtyard of Hogwarts.
In the wake of this incident, serious questions have been raised about Dumbledore's judgement regarding the safety of students under his care. How can parents trust a headmaster who allows such unchecked cruelty within the walls of Hogwarts? And what of Moody's past? If the man's paranoia is triggered so easily by a minor mistake, how can we trust him with our children? This is a man who rose to fame by locking away dark wizards or by putting them in the ground.
One concerned parent, who wishes to remain anonymous, stated, "If Moody's reaction to a simple prank is this severe, what other overreactions might he have in store? A probation period hardly seems sufficient for such a gross abuse of power." Indeed, this author believes that stricter actions must be taken to ensure the safety and well-being of all students.
Dumbledore, who has long been criticised for his unorthodox staff choices (see this author's article on page 17: "Dumbledore's Dubious Decisions: A History of Questionable Hiring"), must answer for this latest scandal. Parents are rightfully questioning whether his leniency towards Moody's behaviour is indicative of a larger issue within the school's administration.
While Moody is celebrated for his remarkable career and credited with numerous arrests of dangerous dark wizards, one has to ask: if he is so easily reminded of his time battling dark wizards, perhaps he is not suited for a teaching role at Hogwarts. The safety of our children should not be compromised by an instructor who cannot separate past traumas from present responsibilities.
If this is what happens at Hogwarts, we need to seriously reconsider who is running this school and who is teaching our children. This author believes that Hogwarts deserves better than an unstable ex-Auror and a headmaster who overlooks such dangerous behaviour. Indeed, it is time for Hogwarts to do a thorough review of its hiring practices and disciplinary measures. The trust placed in this institution must be restored, and it starts with holding those in power accountable for their actions.
Despite not making the front page, Rita Skeeter's latest article had still caused a stir in the Great Hall that morning. The moment students opened their newspapers, whispers erupted across every table, spreading like wildfire. Students leaned over to share lines of the article, exchanging wide-eyed glances and occasional snickers. But most eyes drifted toward Draco, who was seated at the end of the Slytherin table, his face set in a tight, uneasy expression as he avoided their gazes. He shrank slightly under the weight of the attention, clearly uncomfortable with it.
Cynthia sat amidst the buzz, holding her copy of the paper with an expression of mild interest. She briefly considered feigning surprise, but the early hour dulled her patience for any such pretence. Besides, her friends would see through it immediately. Especially Adrian. Sometimes, he knew her so well it was scary.
True to her threat, Cynthia did write to the Board of Governors. Despite Dumbledore's best efforts to shield Moody from being fired, the board, influenced by her father's powerful connections, placed Moody on a one-month probation. Still, Cynthia felt this was merely a slap on the wrist and nowhere near the consequences she wanted the man to face.
So she decided to take matters into her own hands and meticulously compiled a detailed letter filled with incriminating information and photographic evidence of the incident. She then sent that explosive dossier to none other than Rita Skeeter.
And Skeeter did not disappoint. It took her less than a day to release the current scathing article.
As expected, Cynthia felt her friends' suspicious glances. Just as she had anticipated, they pestered her with questions. She met their enquiries with an unshakable calm, neither confirming nor denying her involvement.
"Just tell us where you got the photos from!" Adrian finally pleaded, leaning in closer. Cynthia merely raised an eyebrow and continued picking at her breakfast, pretending not to hear him.
"If I had a galleon for every time you've got a teacher on probation," Veronica mused, "I'd have two. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird it happened twice."
Cynthia finally broke her silence as she looked at her friend with an incredulous expression. "What? I've never gotten a professor on probation before!"
"Aha!" Adrian pointed a triumphant finger her way. "So, you do admit you're behind this one."
Cynthia rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore him again as she listened to what Veronica said next.
"Really? So you've already forgotten what happened with Hagrid last year? That's a bit cold of you, Malfoy."
"Wha—I did not get Hagrid on probation!" Cynthia sputtered.
"But you did tell your father to go after him."
She thought back to the incident when Draco refused to listen to Hagrid's warnings and insulted a hippogriff to its face, which resulted in a minor injury. Cynthia hesitated."Alright, yes…but that's because Father was set on prosecuting the poor creature when it was only acting according to its nature. It wasn't its fault. It was Hagrid's. He shouldn't have let them interact with hippogriffs during the first lesson without proper instructions! He had to be held accountable."
When they were studying hippogriffs in their third year, Professor Kettleburn had thoroughly covered the proper protocols for interacting with hippogriffs, insisting on repeatedly reviewing what to do and what not to do until the students could recite the safety procedures from memory—something Hagrid apparently neglected. Simply telling students once about what not to do was insufficient, especially with such proud and easily offended creatures.
"Well," Veronica began, before her shoulders slumped. "Yeah, alright, you're right. Hagrid's no Kettleburn."
Adrian snorted in agreement while Cynthia gave her a look that said Isn't that already obvious?
While there was no denying Hagrid's extensive knowledge and genuine care for magical creatures, his inability to enforce safety measures was a significant concern. Even Professor Snape, despite his harsh demeanour, emphasised safety procedures and ensured that students were always protected when mistakes were made. In addition to that, Hagrid's classroom management was severely lacking, and he struggled to maintain order during lessons. It was definitely something Dumbledore should have addressed before hiring him–which was one of the main reasons she chose not to take Care of Magical Creatures this year.
Suddenly, her family's owl swooped down gracefully, landing beside her with a neatly sealed letter. She set down her breakfast and gently broke the wax seal, unfolding the parchment, her gaze quickly scanning the lines.
Dear Cynthia,
How are you, ma poupette? How are your studies going? I hope you're not pushing yourself too hard.
I have recently come across the article written by Rita Skeeter in the Daily Prophet, and I must say, I am impressed by your cunning in bringing this issue to light. A probation wasn't going to cut it out and your actions have demonstrated a remarkable understanding of the subtle ways in which we can influence public opinion.
However, I must remind you of the importance of considering the family's reputation in all such endeavours. While your intentions were commendable, the execution was not. Had it not been for swift action on my part, Rita Skeeter could have easily twisted the narrative to insult Draco.
In the future, should you decide to take similar actions, I urge you to think carefully about the potential ramifications and the family's reputation. Remember, the Malfoy name carries weight in our society, and we must always act to preserve and enhance our standing. I am proud of your initiative, but let this be a lesson in the importance of thorough planning and consideration of all possible outcomes.
With pride and affection,
Lucius Malfoy,
The concerned parent
She felt a rush of pride at her father's praise. It also made her chuckle that he was the "concerned parent" in Rita's article. But the letter reminded her just how much pressure came with being a Malfoy.
She sighed, tracing the elegant script with her finger. The subtle threat in his words about considering the family's reputation stung. It was one of the things she didn't like about her family. Ever since she was young, she was taught that her actions were never entirely her own—that every move she made was a reflection of the Malfoy name. While she had long since accepted this, her brother had clearly not.
Cynthia glanced over at her brother, surrounded by a few of his friends at the far end of the table. His usual easy confidence had faded, and he was uncharacteristically quiet, fidgeting as he attempted to ignore the not-so-subtle glances and whispers from the other students.
Normally, she would've gone over to reassure him, to soften the blow of unwanted attention. But not this time. She wasn't going to coddle him like their mother did and let it all pass without consequence. He needed to understand that his actions—and words—came with repercussions. If he didn't learn to handle it now, he'd only find himself in deeper trouble later. Better to let him sit with the discomfort and figure out how to navigate it on his own.
They hadn't exchanged a single word following Cynthia's harsh scolding in the hospital wing.
It didn't help that most of their housemates sided with her on this issue. Normally, they would hesitate to stand against Draco due to their family's influence, but with Cynthia's disapproval adding weight to the situation, they felt emboldened to openly express their anger. Draco had once again dragged Slytherin's reputation through the mud, and this time, he had cost them 50 house points. Losing house points in Slytherin came with its own set of consequences since Professor Snape was quick to dole out detentions to those responsible. But although the detentions were severe, they weren't enough. Many of the students felt Draco deserved even harsher repercussions.
Even Artemis, who likely didn't fully grasp what was happening, sensed the pervasive anger and frustration directed at Draco. And being the troublemaker that she was, the astute feline decided to join in, adopting the collective sentiment and showing her disapproval by refusing any treats or petting from her owner's brother.
Cynthia's anger was only refuelled once she found out what Draco said to set off Ron Weasley. Of all the lows her brother could reach, she didn't think Draco would descend to such a deplorable level—especially knowing how much she'd struggled with her own body image over the years. She wasn't overweight, but she'd never been as slim as the other girls, and that difference had always made her feel self-conscious. The hurtful memories—whispers behind her back, cruel jokes, and her own doubts—came rushing back, making her seethe.
How could he be so callous?
And just to remind her that she also had another problem to worry about, Cynthia's dreams of Voldemort's resurrection were back, and they were as vivid and as terrifying as ever. They haunted her nights, and the darkness she felt in those dreams seeped into her waking hours, casting a shadow over her thoughts. Despite their repetitive nature, they never failed to instil a profound sense of dread in her. To cope, she did what she always did when something was bothering her—she threw herself into her routine.
She spent hours buried in books, finishing essays, and perfecting spells—especially the tricky non-verbal ones. As a prefect, she was expected to run tutoring sessions, but Cynthia went above and beyond, offering extra help whenever she had a spare moment. The majority of Slytherins loved attending her sessions. She excelled at explaining difficult concepts, was very patient, and gave the best advice on almost everything. Whatever free time she had left, she used to practice her cello, since she was part of the Hogwarts orchestra.
Her friends were worried. She barely left time for herself between her studies, prefect duties, and orchestra rehearsals. But for Cynthia, staying busy was the only way to keep her mind off the things she couldn't control.
Finally, it was time for Cynthia to put her and her great-grandmother's plan into action. She was going to seek out the centaurs and ask them about when Voldemort might return. Everything was set. No one would question her absence—her friends thought she was just taking one of her usual weekend naps.
It had taken her a while to get to this point, mostly because of the invisibility cloak. Buying one would've drawn too much attention—and cost a fortune—so she had to make one herself. It turned out to be much harder than she expected. Every night since she arrived at Hogwarts, she had been working on enchanting a regular travelling cloak with a powerful Disillusionment Charm. One charm wasn't enough, though; the effect would fade in just a few minutes. She had to layer it over and over again to make sure it would last for hours.
On her first two attempts, the magic tore through the fabric, weakening the material until it was useless. After some research, she discovered that only certain magical fabrics could retain the repeated Disillusionment Charms she needed.
The only thing she owned that met the requirement was an Acromantula silk cloak her father had gifted her last year for her birthday. At the time, she'd been horrified by the extravagance; Acromantula silk was notoriously rare and prohibitively expensive. But her father had waved away her concerns with a casual "You deserve nothing but the best."
Reluctantly, she decided to use the cloak and was surprised at how smoothly it absorbed the enchantments. Unlike her previous attempts, she didn't need to tread as cautiously; the silk responded to her casting with a resilience that the other fabrics had lacked. On her third try, it finally worked.
Cynthia knew, from her Care of Magical Creatures class, where to find the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest. They had covered them in her fourth year, and Professor Kettleburn had emphasised their territorial nature. Centaurs barely respected humans, most definitely due to humans looking down on them, and so they detested when people trespassed. However, they were also creatures of honour and were unwilling to harm the young. Although Cynthia was nearly of age, she still looked much younger than her peers—a trait most girls her age had already grown out of. To this day, Adrian never let her forget about the time Professor Sinistra accidentally mistook her for a second-year.
The bigger challenge, however, was whether the centaurs would help her. Cynthia knew that centaurs considered their relationship with the heavens private, and did not interfere with what was destined. They were reluctant to share their premonitions and interpretations of the future. Yet, she hoped that her being a seer like them, combined with the basket of carefully chosen gifts she had prepared, would soften their stance.
But that wasn't the only thing scaring her about what she was about to do. She was going to enter the Forbidden Forest, a place teeming with all sorts of dangerous creatures and hidden perils. Even with all the precautions she was taking—rendering herself invisible, masking her scent, silencing all sounds she would emit, and eliminating any trace that could alert creatures to her presence—something could still go wrong. Still, she had to know when Voldemort would return. She had to be prepared.
Summoning her resolve, Cynthia closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, trying to ignore the tight knot of fear in her chest. She grabbed the basket and draped the enchanted travelling cloak around her. Artemis, watching her from the bed, startled when Cynthia vanished from sight. Cynthia giggled.
"You're in a school full of magic, Artemis." She lowered her hood to reveal her face, "Me disappearing shouldn't be the weirdest thing you've seen. Now, come on, let's do what we've been practising for."
Cynthia followed Artemis toward the common room, which was mostly empty. The majority of the students were either studying or enjoying the last bit of good weather before winter set in. A couple of first-year girls came in and stopped to pet Artemis. The cat preened under the attention, but sensing Cynthia's disapproving look, she moved on, heading for the exit with Cynthia right behind her. Once they were out of sight, Cynthia revealed herself to Artemis. She crouched down and gently scratched the cat's favourite spot, eliciting a purr of pleasure.
"Hopefully, I won't be too long," she whispered, standing up and steeling herself for the journey ahead.
As she ventured into the Forbidden Forest, Cynthia found herself enveloped by an eerie stillness. Towering trees with gnarled branches stretched out like skeletal arms. The ground was a tapestry of fallen leaves, rich with the scent of damp earth and decaying foliage. Occasional shafts of sunlight pierced through the dense canopy, casting dappled patterns on the ground. The air was cool and thick with the scent of moss and distant rain.
As she walked, Cynthia kept rehearsing what she would say to the centaurs. Her mind was so preoccupied that she didn't even notice them surrounding her until she heard their commanding voices.
"Human, we know you're there. We can sense the hair of our herd in your wretched stick. Reveal yourself."
Cynthia stiffened, her hand tightening around her wand. Its core—a single hair from a centaur's tail—was a rarity in the world of wand-making. Centaurs rarely offered anything of themselves to humans, and few wandmakers ever had the chance to work with such a core. When she'd first learnt of it, she'd felt a pang of surprise. But perhaps it made sense; there was something fitting about carrying the gift of a creature so closely linked to clairvoyance
Spotting five centaurs encircling her, Cynthia quickly slipped off the cloak and revealed herself before them. There were four male centaurs and one female centauride, all with stern, unyielding expressions. Most seemed unarmed, but the two on the flanks who each held a bow at rest, with a single arrow each knocked to the strings.
Each member of the herd was naked, except for a few sparse pieces of clothing and the trinkets above their waist. Their hindquarters were completely naked, except for the fur that covered their four legs and rear. Around each of their necks shawls were wrapped, flowing down over their shoulders covering some of their chest and backs. Bones of various animals were braided in their hair, tangled dreadlocks of varying lengths, the centauride's dreads being the longest.
"Hi," Cynthia said nervously, attempting a friendly smile. Her eyes darted to the bows. "Nice weather we're having, right?"
One of the centaurs, with wild black hair, a matching beard, and a black body that gleamed in the filtered sunlight, stepped forward. His eyes were dark and menacing. "You are trespassing, human. Hasn't your headmaster warned you about entering the forest? About intruding upon our sacred lands? "
Cynthia gave a quick curtsy, her voice wavering slightly. "He did, and I'm really sorry to intrude on your grounds. I know it's rude, and I understand that you hate—"
"Your purpose." the black-haired centaur interrupted harshly.
"I'm here to ask for help. I need information—"
"No," he cut her off with finality, his voice resonating with authority.
The other centaurs watched her intently, their expressions unreadable. Cynthia felt the weight of their gaze and the gravity of her request. She swallowed hard, knowing that she needed to choose her next words carefully.
"You haven't even heard what I'm asking for."
"It doesn't matter. The answer is still no," the black-haired centaur replied. "I know why you are here, human, and the answer remains no. As centaurs, we do not involve ourselves in the affairs of your kind."
"I'm not asking you to interfere!" Cynthia pleaded, though she could tell they didn't believe her. "I'm not like the others. I'm not ignorant of how fate works. I'm a seer, much like yourselves. While you read the future in the stars and the heavens, I'm shown how things are meant to play out."
Several of the centaurs reared bac,k grunting as if neighing in displeasure. "Seer you may be, human. But you are not like us," one centaur growled, stomping his front legs in anger, before he was halted by the stern grasp of the centauride of their herd.
"Yet here you are, seeking our help," she said. Cynthia could see the disbelief in her eyes– in all of their eyes.
"Because they don't tell me when things will happen! All I have to go on is the extent of my headaches and the context clues from the visions to try to predict their timing," Cynthia cried out in frustration, tangling her fingers into her locks as if to rip out her own hair.
The centaurs' expressions remained doubtful, despite the impassioned display before them.
"I'm not ignorant," Cynthia continued. "I know some things are set in stone and interfering can cause more harm than good. I…I learnt that the hard way. But Voldemort is coming back, and you all know that. He is coming back, and there is no stopping it. All I need to know is when he is coming back. Not to interfere, but to prepare for it."
"And we are just supposed to believe you?" the black-haired centaur asked, huffing at the notion of abusing the heavens.
"No, you have every right to doubt me, as is wise for your kind. But I've told you, I tried interfering once. It caused more trouble than I could have ever imagined. With this, I can only envision how disastrous it would be if I meddle. I know better than to try and prevent fate."
The centauride stepped forward, her hazel eyes alight with contempt. "So you would have us perform such in your stead? You claim to not meddle, but that is what this is, human-child."
Cynthia turned a glaring eye to the centauride. "Not meddling, no! Preparation! Just preparation… like a storm. What's coming can't be stopped so I—we have to prepare! Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't do the same if one was howling on the edge of your forest. That's what I want to do, just prepare for a storm.
"Voldemort is coming back, and it's going to be terrible for everyone. My lot, and your lot included. You know what he'll do, once he gains power. He will hunt down any being he perceives as a threat to his regime and conquest. He will seek to either control or eliminate you if you don't bow underneath his wand; his rule. Your homes, your traditions, and your very lives… he'll burn them all. Without mercy and with prejudice. He will come for you and all your herds."
The black centaur emitted a low growl in his throat. "You dare to threaten us? To tie the troubles of your herd to our own? If you are a seer like us, human, then you should have interpreted the stars."
Cynthia took another deep breath, her voice trembling slightly. "I tried interpreting the stars myself, but all I could discern was that it will happen around the summer solstice and that Mars is unusually bright. That's all I have! So I am asking you for help. Please, tell me when he is coming back. Please. For our all sakes."
Cynthia and the black centaur stood in a tense standoff, each refusing to break eye contact. A part of her urged her to back down, to retreat from the confrontation and avoid further angering the centaurs, but something deep within her refused to let go. She had come this far, traveled all this way for answers, and she couldn't allow herself to walk away now, not when the truth was so close. She was scared, but she stood her ground, feeling the weight of her decision settle heavily on her shoulders. Just as the tension seemed unbearable, one of the other centaurs stepped forward.
"It will happen the next summer solstice," the centaur's voice echoed through the clearing. "And you will know when it is going to happen. But, as you said, human, he is destined to return. And if you try to prevent it, you will unleash forces even worse from unfolding; forces which will swallow the moons and drink the suns."
Cynthia furrowed her brow in confusion at the cryptic 'you will know when it will happen', but felt a rush of gratitude nonetheless. They had given her something, at least, more than she had expected. Bowing her head slightly, she said, "Thank you."
She handed the basket she had brought to the centaurs, but the black centaur snorted disdainfully. "Keep your token bribe, human. This is no transaction between our kind. Our herd cares not for your trinkets."
Cynthia shook her head. "It's not a bribe. It is customary for humans to bring a gift when visiting someone to thank them for opening their home for you. Although, I suppose in this case, it is an apology for intruding on your lands."
The centaurs exchanged sceptical glances, but they still refused the basket. "We do not need your human customs. Our customs are of our herd, not yours," the black centaur insisted.
Cynthia, realising they wouldn't accept it directly, simply set the basket on the ground. "I understand, but I have no need or use for most of the items in it. I will leave it here regardless."
She curtsied again. "Thank you. The future will reveal if we are destined to meet again."
With that, she pulled the cloak around herself, vanishing from sight. She recast the spells that masked her scent and silenced the sounds she would emit. As she walked away, she glanced back and saw that the centaurs, as well as the basket, had disappeared.
Upon reaching the castle's entrance, she slipped inside. She walked through the grand, echoing corridors, her resolve beginning to waver with each step. When she finally reached a secluded area , hidden away from the bustle of students and staff, the weight of her newfound knowledge pressed down on her chest like a boulder. She leaned against the cold, stone wall, her body trembling.
"This year," she slowly whispered to herself, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. Voldemort would return this year, and there was no doubt her father would eagerly rejoin his dark ranks. The thought made her stomach churn.
Her throat tightened, making it hard to breathe. Her heart pounded erratically, each beat echoing in her ears. Her vision blurred as a wave of nausea washed over her, and she pressed her palms against her knees, hoping to steady herself. The effort was futile. A deep ache spread across her chest, and she felt a shiver run down her spine, signalling the rising tide of emotion she couldn't hold back.
Without warning, she sank to the floor, her knees giving way beneath her. Tears began to stream down her cheeks, the full impact of the centaur's words hitting her. The fear of being pressured into taking the Dark Mark when she came of age this spring loomed over her like a dark cloud– she thought of Aunt Bellatrix and Uncle Regulus, both of whom had taken the mark while still students at Hogwarts.
The skin on her arm prickled and burned as if she was already branded. It ate away at the foundation of her composure, leaving only vestiges of its taint. She didn't want to be branded but to be pure. The thought of fleeing the Mark was more than just a flight from her family's ideology. It was flight from her family itself... Torn between freedom and enslavement to a Dark Lord, Cynthia cracked, like a mirror, into a thousand reflective offspring and more. Could she sit back and let her father drag her down with him?
Her breath hitched violently. Multiple scenarios played out in her mind, each worse than the last. The space felt smaller, the air suffocating, as if the walls themselves were pressing in.
And then it hit her.
She would have to leave.
The realisation slammed into her like an all-consuming hex. To escape the Mark, to avoid being dragged into the darkness her family so eagerly embraced, she would have to abandon them. Her father, her mother, her brother—her entire world. The thought of deserting them, despite their flaws, pierced her heart, twisting with the pain of impending loss.
But she couldn't stay. Not if it meant losing herself.
Her sobs subsided into shaky breaths, the edges of her panic giving way to a raw, heavy exhaustion. Cynthia wiped her tear-streaked face with trembling hands, her mind still reeling but no longer entirely overwhelmed. She forced herself to breathe deeply, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth, like the Mind Healer had taught her.
It wasn't perfect. Her heart was still heavy, and her limbs felt weak, but she was beginning to regain control. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her weight. She couldn't afford to be seen in this state, not now. She needed to pull herself together and figure out her next steps. Taking a deep breath, she headed to the nearest lavatory to wash up.
But when she entered the room, the sound of quiet sobs reached her ears. Cynthia hesitated, her own pain momentarily forgotten. She knew the girl probably wanted to be left alone, but something compelled her to stay.
Moving further into the room, she noticed a crumpled piece of parchment lying discarded on the floor. She picked it up and smoothed it out, her hands trembling slightly as her eyes scanned the words scrawled across it.
"When I first came out to my parents, my mother was weird about it."
The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She wanted to take them back immediately, but the sobbing from the stall stopped abruptly. There was a heavy silence.
Cynthia took a tentative step closer to the stall door. "My mother tried to pretend she was okay with it, but I could always tell when she was lying. It was especially obvious when I brought my first girlfriend to meet her. My grandmother was even worse. She didn't even try to hide her disapproval. And since I prefer both witches and wizards, she'd try to dismiss my attraction to girls and make comments about how one day I'd meet a boy that'll sweep me over my feet, and how I was better off with a husband than a wife," she continued, her voice a bit shaky. "I know this might not be comforting, but the point I'm trying to make is that even in our society, where these kinds of relationships are more accepted, you're not alone. There are still those of us who struggle with getting acceptance from our families. There are still witches and wizards who act like your muggle father."
Cynthia waited for the girl to say something, listening to the soft sniffles from inside the stall. The silence stretched on, as if the girl was gathering the courage to speak. Finally, a tentative voice broke the quiet. "And your father? He was okay with it?"
The voice was familiar, and it took Cynthia a moment to place it. It was one of her roommates, Erin O'Brien. Her Irish accent gave her words a lilting, musical quality that was unmistakable.
Cynthia felt a pang of awkwardness. Somehow, it was a bit easier sharing these parts of herself when she didn't know who she was talking to.
Erin was an outcast in Slytherin, not only because she mostly hung out with other houses, but also because of her blood status. Erin didn't even have the chance to hide it; her older brother, who was in Hufflepuff, made it no secret that their father was a Muggle.
Most students in Slytherin were pure-bloods, and the few half-bloods often hid their backgrounds to avoid being treated differently. Cassius was one of them—he kept his blood status a secret until third year because he was afraid Cynthia and Adrian might discriminate against him. While the Malfoy family adhered to traditional pure-blood beliefs, they did not share their disdain for half-bloods, recognising their potential and value. Some pure-bloods in Slytherin held similar progressive views as her father—others remained staunchly opposed, and they did not hesitate to make their contempt known.
However, Erin was rarely bullied her directly. This was partly because of the strict house rule: snakes stuck together. Public disputes were forbidden, and any arguments were to be resolved within the confines of the common room. Professor Snape rigorously enforced this rule, handing out detentions to any Slytherin caught arguing with another in public. This rule was drilled into every student during their first visit to the common room after being sorted, and yet, it did not stop some of her housemates from making snide remarks in private.
While Cynthia and Veronica never joined in the bullying, they had mostly ignored Erin, and now Cynthia was starting to wish she'd made more of an effort to be kind.
"He was more than fine with it. Apparently, he figured it out when I was eight, just from the way I would look at women sometimes," Cynthia said, with a slight smile. "Plus, his cousin, my Tante Camile, is married to a woman, so he's pretty accustomed to it."
"And he didn't warn your mother?" Erin's tone was tinged with amusement, a subtle shift from the earlier sadness.
"Oh, he did. She thought he was joking. He wasn't," Cynthia replied, as a small laugh escaped her.
"I didn't know you were into girls. Or that you had a girlfriend."
"I don't feel the need to inform my preferences to everyone I meet. It's personal. I like to wait until a relevant topic comes up. Or until someone spouts off homophobic remarks. Then I sit back and enjoy the complete look of terror on their faces when I reveal that I like girls." Erin burst into laughter. "As for my girlfriend, it was a very short relationship that took place in a different country during the summer. I doubt you would have heard about it."
Erin was quiet for a moment. "My mum knew when I was young too. She didn't say anything to my father. She wasn't sure how he would react."
Cynthia knew that in the wizarding world, attitudes toward homosexuality had significantly shifted . Once upon a time, same-sex relationships were widely accepted, as magical society valued love and partnership over societal norms. But this acceptance made Muggles suspicious, and it partly led to witch hunts, since Muggles saw these relationships as wrong. And then, when the magical population began to shrink, pure-blood families started to care more about having children to keep their bloodlines going. Because of this, acceptance of same-sex relationships faded—especially in Britain, viewing such unions as detrimental to the continuity of their lineage.
"It was bad enough that he had to accept her being a witch, huh?"
"Oh no, my father jokes that it was harder for him to accept the fact she was English more than her magic," Erin paused. "The history between Muggle England and Ireland is different than the magical one."
They were both quiet for a moment.
"My father isn't a bad man, he isn't," Erin spoke again. "I didn't expect him to take it well when I told him, but given time, I thought he could understand. I mean, it's just like what you said: if he can accept that my mother is a witch, it shouldn't take him long to accept that I like girls, and not boys. But what if it takes him years? What if he never accepts that part of me?"
"I don't know. I wish I knew the answer. I wish I could tell you that everything will turn out okay, but I'm not sure. When I worry about stuff like this regarding my mother, I just… try to remind myself that she can't not love me. Not after everything she did for me, not after everything I put her through. This can't be the thing that stops her from loving me."
At some point, Cynthia started reflecting on how she would soon be leaving her family. How would they react when she revealed that she still didn't believe in what she'd been taught since she was young?
"That helps a bit," Erin whispered, "but it still scares me." .
"I know."
The stall door creaked open, and Erin stepped out. Her curls were dishevelled, her eyes were puffy, and streaks marked her brown skin where tears had once fallen, but still, the smile on her face was as genuine as ever. "Thank you," Erin said, her voice wavering slightly. "Merlin's beard, if you'd told me a few days ago that you would be the one to comfort me in the loo, I wouldn't have believed you."
"I'm trying my best not to take offence to that, but I know what you mean," Cynthia smiled.
"Sorry," Erin mumbled, but then her expression turned to concern as she eyed her. "Are you okay?"
Cynthia blinked and touched her cheeks, feeling the faint traces of dried tears. Realising Erin must have seen them, she paused before admitting softly, "No, not really, but I'm going to be fine."
"Do you want to talk about it? I can listen—I mean, you listened to me."
"I don't really want to talk about it," Cynthia said, her voice tinged with exhaustion. "I haven't had enough time to even process it all yet."
"Oh, I understand," Erin replied, looking slightly downcast.
She hesitated. "I—I think I'm going to have to leave my family."
Erin's eyes widened in shock. "Wait—Why?"
Cynthia sighed deeply. "I don't believe in what they believe," she said, watching the surprise on Erin's face. "I don't think I really have for a while now."
"Why? I mean—I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry, but it's just…you're a Malfoy, aren't you?"
Cynthia paused, considering her words carefully. She couldn't reveal the real reason. " Yeah. But what happened at the World Cup opened my eyes a bit. I know this sounds vague, but I'm just not ready to talk about it yet."
"No, no, I think I get it. I understand, Malfoy."
"Cynthia, my name is Cynthia, and thank you," Cynthia said, feeling a bit lighter. "I think it's time for dinner now. Do you want to go together, Erin?"
"Sure," Erin said, her smile returning.
As they entered the Great Hall, Cynthia and Erin headed straight for the Slytherin table. When they sat together, heads turned and whispers buzzed around their table.
Adrian and Cassius exchanged curious glances, but respected Cynthia's decision, leaving the two girls to their meal. Despite the murmurs, no one dared say anything to Cynthia directly.
The meal passed in a remarkably pleasant atmosphere. Veronica joined them not long after, slipping into the conversation so naturally that it caught Erin off guard. Soon all three girls were chatting freely and laughing, no awkwardness lingering between them.
For Cynthia, it was a welcome distraction from her own worries.
Later that evening, when the castle had fallen silent, and her dormmates were fast asleep, Cynthia pulled out a piece of parchment, and, before her courage could falter, began to write.
Dear Dora,
So I made a new friend today…
A/N: Hey friends! 👋
I know it's been a while—like, a really really really long while—and I'm so sorry for vanishing! First, exams came crashing in like a rogue Bludger, and then this entire semester decided to be a full-on rollercoaster with zero chill. 😩🎢
I actually meant to post this chapter yesterday in honor of Cynthia's birthday (yes, April 16th). I hesitated because I still don't have a proper posting schedule yet (what even is time?). But there was no way I could let her birthday pass without at least something, even if it's a day late.
So here it is! A shiny new chapter✨ Thank you so much for sticking with me—your support means the world. 💚
I'm not 100% sure when the next update will be, but fingers crossed it'll be within the next two weeks—since the next chapter is already fully cooked. Stay tuned and stay magical!
Love,
Angie
P.S. As always thank you for my beta readers, this chapter won't look as a good without you two!
P.S.S It sucks that FFN doesn't allow image uploads, if you wanna know what images I used for Rita's article, it's in the AO3 chapter. Same username and same story title!