This chapter was beta read and edited by suniwrites and MomentoVirtuoso

June 8th, 1992

As the end-of-year feast concluded, Cynthia found Draco standing by a window in the Slytherin common room, staring out through the large panes of glass that showed the depths of the Black Lake. The water's refracted light washed over him, casting a cold, envious green light that sharpened the tense line of his jaw and the set of his mouth.

He wasn't the only one with such an expression; all around them, their housemates wore similar combinations of emotions. All were illuminated in green as if the Common Room itself was envious too for them. The collective mood was a mix of disbelief, anger, and sadness, mirrored in every face. Everyone had been certain of Slytherin's victory. They had momentarily celebrated with glee at their success, and so the sudden reversal left a bitter taste in their mouths.

Cynthia approached her brother gently, knowing how much losing the House Cup meant to him, especially since it was his first year at Hogwarts.

"Hey," she began softly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's not the end of the world, Draco. We'll get it next year."

Draco sighed heavily, turning to face her. "It's not fair, Cindy," he muttered. "Especially to you! You're the one who contributed the most to our house points. You worked so hard for us, and it's all been taken away just like that."

Cynthia gave him a bitter smile, knowing his frustration all too well. "Draco, I know it's disappointing, but—"

"It's Harry Potter's fault!" Draco cut her off, his face reddening as he curled his fists. "He's always causing trouble, seeking attention. And he gets special privileges! He's the only first year on the Quidditch team! Now, he's getting rewarded for breaking the rules?"

Cynthia shook her head, moving closer until she stood beside him. She paused, studying him in silence before letting out a soft sigh. Her hand found his shoulder, a gentle, steadying weight. Though a flicker of anger simmered within her—she, too, had felt the sting of losing the House Cup after Dumbledore's last-minute points to Gryffindor—she kept it in check. The room was already thick with the quiet, simmering displeasure of their housemates, and she didn't want to add to the air of resentment. Instead, she focused on Draco.

"It wasn't Potter's fault," she said. "At least, not completely. I bet he didn't even know he could earn points by doing what he did." She folded her arms, looking away briefly as if weighing her own words. "The problem is Professor Dumbledore. He's the one who explicitly said students weren't allowed to go near the third-floor corridor, yet he went ahead and rewarded points to students who went against his words—simply because they were Gryffindors."

Draco scowled, crossing his arms tightly, but stayed silent as she continued. Cynthia's fingers traced the edge of the window ledge absently. "Sure, they were brave. Sure, they were trying to protect the Philosopher's Stone. But what they did was still dangerous and reckless and could've gotten them seriously hurt," she murmured, her voice tightening. "And they did get hurt."

She glanced back at him, the anger briefly flaring in her eyes. "As headmaster, Professor Dumbledore shouldn't encourage such behaviour, yet he did by rewarding them with those points. And the fact that he did so at tonight's feast, when he could've done it earlier, makes it even worse." She shook her head, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "It's almost as if he wants to announce that he despises Slytherins. His actions are creating more division between us and the other houses, and it's pathetic that he can't be impartial as a headmaster."

Draco's scowl deepened. "But it's not just Dumbledore," he muttered. "It's that whole Gryffindor lot. They think they're so special, so much better than everyone else."

Cynthia sighed, trying to find the right words. "Draco, I understand why you're angry. But dwelling on that anger won't help us. In fact, it may bring more trouble than it's worth. We need to be strategic about this. Make something useful out of that anger. We need to show them that Slytherin can rise above by outmanoeuvring them, not by pointing fingers."

Although she didn't voice it, Cynthia couldn't help but ponder Snape's favouritism towards Slytherin and how it contributed to the problem as well. They weren't totally blameless. Snape's unfair treatment of students from other houses only fueled the fire of animosity. It was a delicate balance to maintain—strengthening her house's unity without deepening divisions with the rest of the school, especially when tensions were already high.

Draco finally sighed, his anger deflating. "I suppose you're right," he muttered, though he didn't look entirely convinced. "But it still feels unfair."

"I know." Cynthia hugged him from the side. "And don't get me wrong, it is unfair, and frustrating. But we'll get through it. We'll work harder next year, and show them what Slytherin is really made of. We'll prove that we deserve the House Cup through our merits, not through favouritism or animosity. We'll come back stronger next year. Slytherin always does."

September 2nd, 1994

Brooding grey clouds loomed overhead, casting a dim, sombre light over the Great Hall in the aftermath of the storm from the previous night. Students gathered for breakfast amidst the lingering scent of petrichor, their conversations hushed and subdued. The clinking of cutlery echoed softly against the stone walls, punctuated occasionally by a yawn or a sleepy protest from those struggling to adjust to the early school routine.

A sudden, thunderous roar shattered the calm of the Great Hall, eliciting jumps and gasps from students mid-bite. Teachers snapped to attention, wands drawn, scanning for any hint of danger. A second, even louder roar followed, targeting Gryffindor specifically, causing some to shriek in surprise. It was precisely at this moment that Cynthia entered the Great Hall and made her way towards the Gryffindor table.

Curiosity sparked among those who noticed a Slytherin approaching Gryffindors. Cynthia stopped squarely in front of the Weasley twins, meeting their curious gazes with an intense, unwavering stare. She absentmindedly scratched Artemis, nestled in her arms, in just the right spot that usually elicited a purr. Instead, a resounding roar echoed from the cat, startling everyone once more.

"Bloody hell! What is wrong with you, Malfoy?" Fred glared at her.

Both Fred and George flinched away as Cynthia pushed Artemis towards their faces, the cooing feline releasing yet another paradoxically loud roar.

"Me?" Cynthia blinked innocently. "Nothing is wrong with me. On the contrary, I think something is wrong with you two."

Ignoring the puzzled and wary looks she was receiving from the surrounding Gryffindors, she continued, "Hissing at an eleven-year-old simply because he got into Slytherin? I don't understand how that was either funny or charming, and I don't think you do either. You clearly didn't like being roared at, did you?"

"We hissed at a kid! It's not like we stuck a dungbomb down his shirt on his way up to the stool!" Fred shot back. His face turned the same colour as his hair. "Blessed-Morgana, it was a funny joke! Harmless one at that mind you, Malfoy!"

Oh, Fred Weasley just had to hand her the perfect opening and make it easy for her to win the argument.

"Funny?" Cynthia's voice dropped to a lethal softness. "I didn't find it funny, Malcolm clearly didn't, and do you see me laughing? Do you see any of them laughing? If you were the only person to find it funny, then it wasn't that funny.

"And as for it being a harmless joke," she continued, her voice as sharp as a blade, "there's no such thing when it's at someone else's expense. Malcolm is eleven, Weasley Two. Eleven. He just got sorted into a house that most of you despise, and the first thing you do is mock him for it? What kind of welcome is that? A harmless joke, as you call it, could be the very thing that makes him feel unwelcome in his own school. Is that what you wanted?"

Fred opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get a word out, George shot him a sharp, warning glance that halted him mid-breath. Fred's frustration faltered, the fire in his eyes dimming as he caught sight of the younger student Cynthia was talking about. Malcolm's wide eyes and the way he cowered in his seat struck Fred like a blow. He felt a pang of guilt, his bravado crumbling as he realised the impact of their actions, making his words die on his tongue.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is," she leaned close to them, her stare unyielding. "You pull something awful like this again at one of my housemates, it's not Professor Snape you'll have to watch out for, it's me. Do you understand?"

They hesitantly nodded, clearly caught off guard by her intensity. Cynthia immediately flashed them a bright, almost too-sweet smile. "Great! I'm so glad we had this productive conversation."

She turned around and was about to head back to the Slytherin table but suddenly paused. "Oh, and before I forget," she said, glancing back at them with a smirk. "I'm going to need to take ten points from Gryffindor from each of you. Have a lovely breakfast!"

Turning away from the twins, Cynthia began to walk calmly back to her table, eyes following her every step. She could feel their scrutiny, a mixture of shock, admiration, and disapproval, but she paid it no mind. As she neared the Slytherin table, Adrian raised his hand and Cynthia quickly high-fived him, their palms clapping loudly in the otherwise hushed hall. With a swift motion, he pulled her down beside him, ruffling her hair in a playful manner. Cassius and Veronica were still looking at her in shock.

"I've seen you do a lot of amazing things, Cindy, but that," he said, wiping a non-existent tear from his eye, "that easily made it to the top ten."

Cynthia rolled her eyes, trying to wriggle free from his strong grip. "Alright, I get it, you're proud of me. Now let go, you're suffocating me," she protested, though her tone was light. However, the moment Adrian loosened his hold, Draco took his place and pulled her into a tight hug.

"That was brilliant," Draco said, a hint of awe colouring his voice. "You were brilliant. The look on their faces… And you did it in front of everyone, and they can't do or say anything about it because technically you did nothing wrong. That was so… so... so Slytherin!"

Cynthia laughed, the sound bubbling up with genuine amusement. "Thank you. I try."

Slowly, the tension in the hall dissipated, though whispers and curious glances continued to ripple through the room. Thankfully, it was at that moment that owls descended through the open windows, carrying the morning mail. Merlin, Draco's owl, landed on his shoulder, a care package from home attached to his legs.

While Draco began to rummage through the package, Veronica leaned over and asked Cynthia, "Is that why you were in your bed all morning?"

"Yeah. Draco, watch my hair," she muttered to her brother when he accidentally tugged on her long, loose hair that hung down to her hips. She hadn't bothered to style it that morning. "I was busy tinkering with the Elephant on a Bicycle sweet to make it produce louder effects, and also trying to make it edible for Artie. Let me tell you, it was easier said than done. She spat it out at me a couple of times."

Malcolm, who had been standing awkwardly nearby, finally found his voice, stammering, "Um, you didn't have to do this for me."

Cynthia's gaze softened as she turned to him. "Didn't you hear what we told you yesterday, Malcolm?" Her tone was warm and reassuring. "We Slytherins stick together. You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us."

Malcolm blinked, still processing the gesture and the sincerity behind it.

Meanwhile, Cynthia carefully removed the deafening charm from Artemis. The small feline shook her head, finally able to hear again, and nuzzled Cynthia's hand in gratitude. Cynthia smiled and quickly prepared a breakfast bowl for Artemis before turning to her own breakfast.

Draco had then finished sorting through their care package. He handed Cynthia her half, which included an assortment of her favourite snacks and a small bag of accessories from their mother. Looking through it, Cynthia eagerly pulled out a hair barrette, using it to pull her long hair into a half-up, half-down style, neatly securing it in place.

Professor Snape made his way around the Slytherin table, handing out schedules. When he passed by Cynthia, he paused and gave her an approving nod, acknowledging her earlier display of Slytherin cunning and loyalty.

Slowly, students filed out from the Great Hall, heading towards their morning class. The majority of the sixth year remained behind as they were typically the last to receive their schedules. Their head of house needed to confirm which classes they wished to continue and whether they achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades for their chosen N.E.W.T.s.

As Professor Snape made his way towards them, Veronica groaned and leaned against Cassius. "Just wait for it. Professor Snape is going to pick me first and ask me if I've thought about my future plans, and I'm going to say I don't know. Then he's going to give me that look that says my existence is a personal insult to Slytherin house. I swear, just because I didn't pop out of the womb with a five-year plan doesn't mean I'm not ambitious. I need more time to think, is all."

Before any of her friends could reply, Professor Snape loomed over them, and just as Veronica predicted, she was his first target.

"So, Miss Travers, have you finally given some thought about what you're going to do with your life after you leave the warm embrace of this school?" Snape's voice dripped with sarcasm.

Veronica couldn't meet his eyes as she hesitantly shook her head. Professor Snape sighed in disappointment, giving her the exact look she had anticipated. Thankfully, he didn't dwell on it and immediately cleared her to continue with Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and Care of Magical Creatures. Adrian was cleared for the same subjects, except he was taking Astronomy in place of Potions. Cassius was also approved for all the subjects he needed to be a Warder at Gringotts, just as he wanted.

"Saving the best for last, huh, Professor?" Cynthia grinned up at Snape.

It was only after giving her a penetrating stare that he handed her her schedule. Her friends all let out sighs of relief once Professor Snape disappeared from their sight.

"More like the worst," he muttered as he looked at her application. "Arranging the schedules for the sixth and seventh years was a nightmare this year since we had to take you into account."

"I appreciate the effort, Professor," Cynthia said sincerely. "And you know, I won't let you down."

"You'd better not," he said. "And are you sure you really want to take Transfiguration? Last time I checked, you hate the subject."

"I do hate it," Cynthia nodded with a smile. "It's kind of a toxic relationship, where you know you're bad for each oth—"

Professor Snape gave her a look that immediately silenced her. After a beat, she nodded and replied, "Yes, Professor, I'm sure."

"If you have a repeat of what happened last year," Professor Snape warned, "I will pull you out of Transfiguration with or without your consent."

"Understood," Cynthia said, her voice steady.

"I swear, if any one of us tried to talk to him the way you did, we'd find ourselves six feet under," Cassius remarked.

"Yeah, he's a difficult man but at least we're better off than the other houses," Cynthia said and picked up her bag. As they began to walk to Charms, their first class of the day, Adrian leaned over her to look at her schedule and let out a gasp.

"Sweet Merlin, do you even have a break?"

She glanced at her schedule. "Doesn't seem like it, no."

Veronica snatched the schedule from her and scrutinised it, Cassius peering over her shoulder. Meanwhile, Adrian continued with his spiel, "Bu-but sixth year is meant for breaks and for us to take it slow and relax," he pointed at Cassius. "Cassius' taking seven classes, and he still has breaks."

"Those breaks are meant for studying because our course load will be heavy this year," Veronica said, her brow furrowed. "But I agree with Adrian. Ten classes is too much, Cindy. We don't want a repeat of what happened last year."

"Why does everyone keep bringing up last year?!" Cynthia whined. "Relax, all of you. I'll be fine. Seriously, I learned my lesson, you don't have to worry too much. And may I remind you I'm taking four NEWTs? This year was never meant to be easy either way. Of course, I won't have breaks, but I've learned to manage my time. I'll be okay."

Veronica gave her a wary look. "Just be careful, otherwise Professor Snape will pull you out of Transfiguration before you know it."

Cynthia sighed. It was barely the first day of school and already that was the third time she was reassuring someone that she won't work herself into exhaustion like she did in fifth year. "I promise. I've got this."

Sensing the tension, Veronica decided to change the topic. "I know you warned me, but I'm seriously worried about what Hagrid will bring into class now that we're at the NEWT level."

"I'm excited," Adrian said with a gleam in his eye.

"Of course you are," Veronica retorted. "You have no sense of self-preservation. Remind me again how you ended up in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor?"

"My desire to be the best," Adrian replied smugly. "Which, I'm assuming, won't be too difficult in Care of Magical Creatures given your reluctance."

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Just because I don't fancy getting mauled by some monstrous beast doesn't mean I lack ambition."

Adrian grinned. "No, it just means I get to shine even brighter."

"Let's see how smug you are when Hagrid brings out something truly terrifying," Veronica shot back. "I bet even your confidence has its limits."

"We'll see," Adrian said with a wink.

Their morning classes went without a hitch. As expected, Professor Flitwick explained that their course load would be heavier than in previous years since they were now in a NEWT-level class. He emphasised the importance of using their breaks effectively to avoid last-minute cramming and went over the curriculum for the year, focusing specifically on non-verbal casting.

Afterwards, while her friends enjoyed a free period, Cynthia headed towards her first seventh-year class. She felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness walking in, heightened by the curious stares from the older students who hadn't expected her presence. Professor Babbling's warm smile, however, immediately put her at ease. The professor had been the one to encourage Cynthia to take her NEWTs in Ancient Runes early, recognizing her exceptional talent in the subject.

However, there was one class she was most curious about, much like the rest of the student population at Hogwarts, and that was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Moody was a famous ex-Auror with a reputation for being both highly skilled and extremely eccentric. Students were eager to see what his lessons would entail, knowing that his real-world experience would bring a unique and practical approach to the subject.

Yet Cynthia was surprised to see that she and her friends weren't the only ones who arrived at class early after lunch. She quickly noted the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan sitting in the front, a spot she usually claimed. She hesitated for a moment, her mind flashing back to their recent confrontation, but she immediately shook her head. She had done nothing wrong, and she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing her shy away. Squaring her shoulders, she marched confidently to the front and took a seat beside them, ignoring their presence entirely. She completely missed the sad look George gave her.

The minutes ticked by, and more students trickled in, filling the classroom with a hum of chatter. Everyone was abuzz with curiosity about their new professor. Cynthia could hear snippets of conversations speculating about whether he would share stories from the war when he used to be an active Auror.

Finally, the classroom door creaked open, and Moody himself entered, his wooden leg thumping against the floor with each step. His magical eye twirled around the room, taking in every student. Cynthia couldn't remember the last time silence fell upon a class as quickly as this moment.

"You can put those books away." He stumped over to his desk. "You won't need them."

His words heightened the excitement of the class and everyone eagerly followed his instructions.

"As I'm sure your other professors have told you, sixth year is all about learning non-verbal casting," Moody began, his magical eye swivelling to fix on each student in turn. "Your previous professor left me a letter about what you covered the past year. While he did go over the jinxes and spells required for your O.W.L.s, his coverage of curses wasn't to my liking. So, we'll be going over more of those, in addition to non-verbal casting. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with the Dark Arts, and I don't intend to waste a single minute.

Unlike your previous years, I'm not going to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. You're in sixth year now! You're old enough to know what illegal Dark curses look like. Otherwise, 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 have CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

They all jumped at the loud yelling.

"So, which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Adrian's and the Weasley twins'. Cynthia kept her hand down but leaned forward, eager to see where this was going.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Moody barked, pointing at Fred.

"The Unforgivable Curses."

"Correct, and what are they?"

Fred and George began listing them. "The Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, and the Killing Curse."

"That's right," Moody confirmed. "And today, you're going to see them. Because if you've never seen them, how will you know what you're facing?"

There was a murmur of shock among the students. Professor Moody wasn't pulling any punches.

He pulled a spider out from a jar, set it on his desk, then pointed his wand at it and said, "Imperio!" The spider began to dance erratically. At first, most of the class laughed, but Moody's glare silenced them quickly.

"Think it's funny, do you?" he growled. "Imagine that's you, under someone else's control. You want to laugh now?"

The room fell silent, the gravity of his words sinking in. Cynthia felt a chill run down her spine. He barked at them to start taking notes as he began to explain the curse's effects. Moody's descriptions weren't just vivid; they were disturbingly detailed. It was as if he had been under this curse before and experienced it firsthand. He continued to demonstrate the remaining two curses. His voice was hard as he lectured them, his eyes scanning the room to ensure the lesson was sinking in.

Professor Moody waited for them to finish writing their notes before addressing class once more. "Only one of these three curses was created by a dark wizard. It's not a well-known fact, and it's quite surprising when you think about it. Do any of you want to take a guess as to which one it is?"

"The Killing Curse?" a student called from the back.

"No," he shook his head.

"It has to be the Cruciatus Curse!"

"Wrong again," Moody replied.

"But it can't possibly not be the Cruciatus Curse," Lee Jordan spoke up. "I mean, it's all about torturing someone."

"And yet, it was not created with this intention in mind," Moody turned to Cynthia. "You don't seem to be surprised by these facts, Miss Malfoy. My colleagues tell me you always know the right answer. Do you know who created these two curses, and why?"

Cynthia quickly felt the weight of everyone's eyes on her. Although surprised that Moody singled her out, she wasn't entirely caught off guard. Whenever no one else could answer a professor's question, Cynthia was the one they turned to. Professors had realised that while she didn't always raise her hand, she invariably knew the answer. This had become something of a tradition after her second year, especially with Professor Snape. His favourite pastime was to ask particularly difficult questions on purpose that no one could answer, knowing that he could count on her to respond correctly and thus award more points to Slytherin.

As Cynthia took a deep breath, her voice remained steady. "I don't remember his name, but it was a healer who created both the Killing Curse and the Cruciatus Curse," she began. "He invented them centuries ago because, back in the day, healing spells weren't advanced enough to deal with major injuries. He frequently encountered patients who were gravely injured by dark magic or catastrophic spell backfires, and often, there was nothing that could be done to save them or ease their suffering. Their only fate was to die painfully, so out of mercy, he created the Killing Curse to allow them to go peacefully. That's why the curse is so swift and painless."

The room grew still, her calm tone unsettling her classmates. They exchanged uneasy glances as she spoke fluently about dark magic, as if she was discussing a simple potion recipe rather than the darkest spells known to the wizarding world.

"As for the Cruciatus Curse," Cynthia went on, "it was born out of a similar context but with a different purpose. The healer created it as a last-ditch effort to save lives. It was a method of jolting patients back from the brink of death. The intense pain caused by the curse was intended to shock the body into restarting vital functions, though I'm not exactly sure how that worked."

Veronica shifted in her seat, her discomfort apparent.

"There are some historical records that indicate this curse was never meant to be used in a prolonged manner," Cynthia continued, her tone unwavering. "It was supposed to be a brief, intense shock. They claim it was a dark witch who twisted this spell and modified it into a tool of torture. She altered it so it could be sustained and inflict unimaginable pain for extended periods. And well, as we can see today, it appears that her version of the spell is more popular than the healer's."

Everyone remained silent and unmoving when she was done, giving her bewildered looks.

"Impressive, Miss Malfoy, twenty points to Slytherin. Not many people know of these origins"—Moody nodded to her—"which leads us to non-verbal casting. Intent is everything when attempting non-verbal spells. You have to mean it. Most students struggle with intent when practising non-verbal casting. They expect the spell to work because they thought it in their mind, but that's only part of how it works. You need to fully commit to the spell, both mentally and emotionally. Your intent must be clear and unwavering.

"And dark wizards don't play fair," Moody said, pacing slowly at the front of the classroom. "They'll come at you with everything they've got, and you need to be ready. Non-verbal spells can give you an edge. Why is that?"

A student in the front row raised her hand. "Because it allows you to cast spells without giving away what you're about to do. Your opponent can't counter a spell if they don't know what it is."

"Five points to Hufflepuff," Moody agreed. "But why do we wait until sixth year to start learning non-verbal casting? Why not teach it from the beginning?"

Ingrid Stevens, a Ravenclaw Muggle-born, answered. "Non-verbal casting demands intense focus, a strong grasp of the spell, and significant willpower, which make these spells more powerful but also more draining to the caster's magical reserves. Younger students are still mastering the basics, and their developing magical cores would struggle to sustain such spells, which is why non-verbal casting isn't taught until sixth year, when our cores are mature enough to handle the strain."

Moody nodded. "Ten points to Ravenclaw. Non-verbal spells demand a higher level of magical maturity and discipline. They're not something you can just pick up overnight. It takes practice, focus, and a deep understanding of the magic you're wielding so that by the time you reach my age, it'll be as easy as breathing. Now, let's see if we can put that theory into practice. Wands out, everyone. Pair up and we'll start with the disarming spell."

"Mine!" Veronica leaned over her seat and placed a hand on Cynthia's shoulder.

Adrian and Cassius groaned.

"I would appreciate it if you would stop treating me like an objected," Cynthia frowned.

"I'll consider it once you start showing some flaws and behave like the rest of us mortals," Veronica replied. "Now, come on, show me how to do this right."

Most of the students struggled with the task, and Moody moved around the room, offering assistance where needed. Cynthia, however, got it on the first try. Professor Snape had encouraged her to learn non-verbal casting last year, knowing she wanted to take her Potions NEWTs early. Surprisingly, non-verbal casting was also used in Potions at the NEWT level, as they can increase the potency of certain brews. Some potions even require spells cast non-verbally to reach their full strength or achieve specific effects that verbal spells can't provide. While many potions will still work with spoken incantations, non-verbal casting often yields a more powerful result.

Throughout her fifth year, Cynthia had been practising non-verbal spells, doing minimal things like clearing ink spots from parchments, fetching books from high shelves, and other everyday applications for practice and to get used to it.

With her own spell mastered, Cynthia helped Veronica, Cassius, and Adrian with their disarming spells. Behind her, she heard one of her classmates grumble, "It's the first day of school and already she's ahead of us."

Cynthia stiffened at the sound of the grumbling voice, her focus shifting as she turned to spot Lucas Hearth, a Ravenclaw who had shared a boat with her and Adrian on their first day at Hogwarts. His expression was a volatile mix of frustration and something darker—a simmering resentment that bordered on hostility. Normally, Cynthia prided herself on not caring what others thought—a lesson she'd been working hard to embrace, especially knowing that most of her peers wouldn't have kind words for a Malfoy. But as Lucas's glare bore into her, she felt a crack in her resolve—an unwelcome moment of weakness that made her want to retaliate.

For a brief second, Cynthia shared a harsh glare with him. Lucas met Cynthia's glower, tired of seeing her excel without even trying, tired of how she didn't boast or even acknowledge anyone but her fellow Slytherins. At the last moment, his gaze shifted, granting Cynthia the victory of their unspoken duel.

"Aww, someone seems sad," Cynthia teased, her tone light but with an edge that cut deep. "And here I thought this was a practice session, not a whining one."

Lucas's cheeks flushed a deep red as a few students nearby started to glance their way. "You think you're so perfect, Malfoy—"

Cynthia shook her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "Perfect? Hardly. I'm good at spellcasting, sure, but my reflexes? They're terrible. Practically non-existent. That's something I need to work on this year. See, Hearth, the difference between us is that I acknowledge my flaws and actually do something about them."

The words lingered in the air, Cynthia's calm, almost nonchalant tone intensifying their impact. Lucas's frustration deepened as his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He was eager to hate her, to see her as the arrogant Slytherin who thought she was above everyone else. Yet, her refusal to gloat, her ability to turn her own flaws into a lesson, only fueled his irritation, making his dislike for her grow even stronger.

Cynthia turned back to her friends, brushing off the encounter as if it were nothing, but the tension in the room remained.

Aside from this incident, the rest of the class went smoothly. As soon as Professor Moody dismissed them, the students began chattering excitedly about him.

"He's scary but he was so amazing too," one student remarked.

"I can't believe he actually showed us the Unforgivable Curses," another said, eyes wide.

"I've never had a class like that before," Adrian added. "It was intense but... in a good way."

Cynthia remained silent as her friends animatedly discussed the class, their excitement a stark contrast to her contemplative mood. She was lost in thought, mulling over Professor Moody's words and the day's events. Her attention for her friends waning, Cynthia felt a heaviness over her eyes as if sleep was coming for her. She could hear the chirping of a ferret in the back of her mind and even see a clear silver one behind the lids of her eyes as if the beginning of a dream. Shaking her head briefly to stir herself from the daze, she couldn't help but play over the silver ferret in her mind, its significance eluding her as she focused back on the conversation at hand.

However, the chatter around her seemed to fade as they approached the Transfiguration Courtyard. Suddenly, a familiar voice pierced through the noise, sending a wave of dread washing over her. It was Draco.

"Oh no," she muttered, recognizing the unmistakable tone of her brother's voice. It was a tone that usually meant trouble. The first thought that entered her mind was that Draco was up to something foolish again. Her suspicion was confirmed when she saw a crowd gathered, everyone looking in the direction of the commotion.

"Draco," she groaned under her breath.

Abandoning her friends, she pushed through the throng of students, weaving her way towards the source of the disturbance. Her heart sank when she saw Draco in yet another heated argument with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

"You know your mother, Malfoy?" Harry called out, while he and Hermione Granger restrained Ron Weasley, seemingly to stop him from attacking Draco. "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 face turned pink at the insult aimed at their mother. "Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."

"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," Harry retorted, turning away dismissively.

Before Cynthia could reach him to intervene, Draco pointed his wand at Harry. But before he could utter a spell, a voice roared from the staircase.

"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"

A blinding white light erupted, forcing everyone to shield their eyes. As the light dimmed and they cautiously looked back, a collective gasp rippled through the hall. Where Draco had stood moments before, there was now only a small, trembling ferret.

The air grew heavy with stunned silence.

Cynthia's breath caught in her throat, a squawk-like sound escaping her lips in panic. Her chest clenched tightly, as if her heart skipped a beat. Her mind was racing trying to process the sight she was seeing. A professor had just transfigured her brother into a ferret. The absurdity of it was almost too much to believe, yet there Draco was—a tiny, pure white ferret, shivering in fear.

A vision had flickered in her mind, an image of a ferret she hadn't understood at the time. Now, it made sickening sense.

Professor Moody limped down the marble staircase, his wand pointed at the pure white ferret shivering on the ground where Draco had stood. He turned to Harry. "Did he get you?" he growled. The sound of his voice snapped Cynthia out of her shock, her eyes narrowing with anger at the professor as he shouted for Crabbe and Goyle to leave the ferret alone when they attempted to pick him up.

When he started for him, the ferret gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the inside of the castle.

"Oh-ho! I don't think so!" Professor Moody pointed his wand at the ferret again. It flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the ground, and then bounced upward once more. "I'll teach you proper manners, you cur! Sneaking ferrets like you — attacking when their opponent's back turned," he growled as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain.

"Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do…"

The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly.

That was the final straw for Cynthia. Her fury erupted, and with a swift, precise movement, she disarmed Professor Moody, followed by a powerful non-verbal Body-Bind Curse. The sheer force of her spells was staggering—Moody's wand flew several feet away, clattering against the grass. A moment later, his rigid body hit the ground with a resounding thud that echoed through the room, causing several students to wince in sympathy. Without lowering her wand, she rushed to her brother, who scrambled into her arms. She held him close, her eyes blazing with defiance and protectiveness.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Cynthia yelled at Professor Moody, who was lying helplessly on the ground, bound by her spell. Some students gasped at her audacity to swear at a professor. She lowered her voice dangerously as she stood over him, "You don't like when people attack their opponents from the back? How is that worse than tormenting a child?! You could've disarmed him just like I did to you but no, you just had to act like a foolish man! This is a school, Professor Moody, not the war. We have disciplinary actions for these kinds of situations. Did Professor Dumbledore fail to inform you of them, or do you think you're simply above them?"

Everyone could feel the girl's fury. It practically radiated through the courtyard as she stared him down with intense eyes.

"You touch my brother ever again, you look at him even the wrong way once. I swear that if you even think about harming a hair on his head again, not even Merlin himself will save you from my wrath. And there's more to where that came from."

"Potter!" Harry jumped, startled when Cynthia called him. "You ever insult my mother like that again and I'll make what Professor Moody did to my brother seem like a child's play, you hear me?!"

Nobody said anything until Professor McGonagall arrived on the scene. "What is going on here?!" she said in a stunned voice.

Cynthia felt a wave of relief wash over her as she saw Professor McGonagall approaching. She didn't know how to turn her brother back to normal since they hadn't learned human transfiguration yet.

"Please turn my brother back to normal," Cynthia presented the ferret to Professor McGonagall.

"Your brother— is that a student!?"

"Yes, this is Draco, now please turn him back," Cynthia urged.

Professor McGonagall quickly pulled her wand and, a moment later, Draco stood before them, looking dishevelled but unharmed. Cynthia hugged him tightly, running her hands over his face and body to make sure he was all right. It was then Professor McGonagall noticed Professor Moody lying on the ground, still immobilised.

"What happened to him?" she demanded, her eyes sweeping between the downed professor and the pair of Malfoys, unable to fathom how any student would have been able to land a jinx upon a man like Alastor Moody.

"Oh, nothing," Cynthia replied with a touch of sarcasm. "Unlike what he did to my brother, this is temporary. It'll wear off on its own."

Professor McGonagall turned to her with a stern expression. "Miss Malfoy, would you please tell me what in Godric's good-name is going on? Attacking a teacher — my word, I don't know what to do. A brawl between student and faculty…"

In her anger, Cynthia retorted, "Please, as if there is anything you can do, Professor McGonagall. We all know what's going to happen. You'll report this to Professor Dumbledore, and he'll come up with some weird, nonsensical poetic line and dismiss the whole situation. He might even try to expel my brother because he's a Slytherin. We're all viewed as villains anyways, so what does it matter if someone goes after a Slytherin? But don't worry, I'll make sure this doesn't slide. I will write to the school board, and my father will be hearing about this!"

The moment Cynthia uttered the words, a heavy silence fell over the courtyard. Whispers spread like wildfire among the students, eyes widening in shock. Cynthia had never pulled the "my father" card before, unlike Draco, who was known for it. For her to say it now, and with such force, was a major deal. Cynthia Malfoy was known for her calm demeanour and sharp wit, not for explosive outbursts like this. The shock of hearing her lash out and invoke her father's influence left many of them speechless. Even Draco, who had heard his sister defend him many times before, looked at her with a mix of surprise and dread.

Professor McGonagall's stern expression faltered for a brief moment, her eyes narrowing as she processed the venom in Cynthia's words. She never thought she'd hear such words nor threat from a well disciplined student like Cynthia Malfoy. A small piece of the softness she held for the young girl hardened in that moment, she had always admired Cynthia for her determination in Transfiguration despite her poorness in the subject.

Not waiting for a response, Cynthia grabbed Draco's hand and marched towards the hospital wing. She wanted to make sure he was all right. The entire time they were walking, Draco knew he was in trouble. Cynthia didn't speak a word to him, and every time he tried to look at her, he saw a glare that resembled their mother's when they were in trouble. He was fairly certain that Cynthia was furious with him.

As they walked, Draco finally mustered the courage to speak. "Cindy, I—"

"Not now, Draco," Cynthia cut him off sharply. "We'll talk later."

Draco nodded, knowing better than to push his luck. They reached the hospital wing, and Cynthia insisted that Madam Pomfrey check him thoroughly. As he lay on the hospital bed, he watched his sister pacing back and forth, her anger palpable. Finally, Madam Pomfrey confirmed that Draco was unharmed. Cynthia thanked her and proceeded to stare down her brother.

"I'm sorry, Cindy," Draco said quietly.

"No, no, you don't get to say that. Not after what you did. We've been back at school for less than a day, and already you're searching for trouble. How many times have I told you to ignore Potter and the others? How many times have I told you that he's more trouble than he's worth? But no, the mighty Draco Malfoy just has to prove that he's... what, exactly? That he's tougher? Smarter? Better?" Cynthia's voice rose with each question, her frustration spilling over.

Draco looked down, unable to meet her fiery gaze.

"What good has it ever done you to pick a fight with him? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Yet you, with all your pride and arrogance, just can't seem to let it go. You can't see beyond your own ego. Every time you provoke Potter, it backfires on you. And now look where it's gotten you — turned into a ferret in front of the entire school. You think that's going to earn you respect? You think that's going to make people see you as anything other than a foolish bully?"

Draco winced at her words, but Cynthia wasn't done.

"No matter how many times I've told you, you don't seem to understand the repercussions of your actions. You're reckless, Draco. Reckless and stubborn. You never think about how your actions affect others, how they affect how our house is viewed. Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to see you like that? To see my own brother, reduced to a helpless animal, because you couldn't keep your temper in check? You're my brother, Draco, and I love you, but you're making it so hard to stand by you when you keep doing these stupid, thoughtless things. You're one of the main reasons why the others see our house as nothing but a nest of troublemakers and bullies. Do you ever think about how your actions reflect on me? On us?"

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Cynthia held up a hand to stop him.

"No, don't. Just… don't. I can't even look at you right now. I need some time to cool down, and you need to think long and hard about your behaviour. Because if you don't, Draco, if you keep this up, you're going to find yourself in a lot worse trouble than just being turned into a ferret."

With that, she turned on her heel and left the hospital wing, leaving Draco to sit in silence, grappling with the weight of her words.

Cynthia rushed through the corridors, her emotions boiling over. She headed towards the music room near the Slytherin common room, a familiar sanctuary for her when her feelings would get chaotic. Entering the room, she was met with the sight of the grand piano, but as she sat in front of it, she found herself too angry to play. Seriously, what were the odds of both her brother and father angering her within a single week?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. She turned to see Cassius entering the room. He gave her a concerned look, and she couldn't help but let out a sarcastic remark.

"Here to take the first shift?" she asked, her voice dripping with bitterness. It was an unspoken rule among her friends that they would take turns staying with her whenever she retreated to play the piano in times of distress.

Cassius shook his head with a small smile. "No, Veronica and Adrian will join us soon. They're just sneaking some food to bring along."

Cynthia sighed, feeling a mixture of gratitude and exasperation. In her anger, she had forgotten about her hunger. The tension of the day had sapped her appetite, but now that Cassius mentioned food, she realised just how famished she was.

Cassius stepped closer and gave her a reassuring look.

"You know, you did nothing wrong," he said, his voice supportive. "In fact, what you did today was pretty amazing. You downright scared half the student population, although some are already betting on how much trouble you'd be in for the way you spoke to Professor McGonagall."

Cynthia nodded, her thoughts still swirling with the aftermath of her confrontation with Professor Moody and McGonagall. "I'd like to see her try. I said nothing that wasn't true."

Cassius squeezed her shoulder gently. "You stood up for your brother. That's what matters. Don't let anyone make you doubt that."

His words were comforting, and Cynthia found herself leaning into the hug he offered. When she finally pulled back and thanked him, Cassius simply smiled and said, "Anything for you, Cindy."

The opulence of the Malfoy Manor's dining room was palpable yet subdued in the quiet aftermath of dinner. Lucius and Narcissa lingered in a reflective silence, their minds frequently turning to Draco and Cynthia, who were now away at Hogwarts. Despite their children never being boisterous, their absence left the house feeling emptier. It was always hard for them to get used to the quiet in the first few days after their children left for school.

Suddenly, the solemn atmosphere was shattered by the swift arrival of an owl, which swooped into the room and dropped a crimson howler directly in front of Lucius. Narcissa gasped, her hand instinctively reaching for her husband's arm.

Lucius' initial reaction was one of fury at the audacity of someone sending him a howler. But his anger turned to confusion as he saw his daughter's name inscribed on the envelope in a delicate script. Narcissa, equally perplexed, urged him, "Open it quickly before it explodes, Lucius."

Carefully, Lucius unfolded the howler, and as he did, the room was filled with Cynthia's booming voice. She wasted no time in explaining her unconventional choice of communication.

"I know this seems extreme, Father, and a bit unconventional" Cynthia's voice reverberated off the walls, tinged with clear anger. "But I am just.. I am too angry to write a letter, and I needed to tell you this immediately."

"She really is, Mr. Malfoy. You should see her right now. She is beyond pissed off," a voice that sounded like Veronica added. Cynthia must've given her a look because Veronica uttered a quiet, "Sorry."

"Something terrible happened at school today and it involved Draco. He got into another fight with Potter and he tried attacking him from the back. I was too far to stop him from doing it but then I guess it must've triggered him or something because Professor Moody transfigured Draco into a ferret! Right there, in front of everyone. He—he bounced him around as if he was a ball and he hurt him and tormented him."

Narcissa's eyes widened in alarm while Lucius's grip tightened on the howler. They exchanged looks of shock and growing anger.

"It was outrageous! Obviously, I didn't stand by and let him continue so I disarm him before he could do more harm and—"

"I'm sorry, just disarm him? You also cast Petrificus Totalus on him and proceeded to yell at him in front of everyone," a voice that sounded like Adrian interjected.

Lucius scowled at the sound of the boy's voice. Adrian always hovered around his daughter like a leech, and Lucius found it increasingly irritating. His expression shifted, though, when the words sunk in. His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of amusement dancing in them before he composed himself. Narcissa's hand flew to her mouth, stifling another gasp. They exchanged a glance, a mixture of surprise and concern — but also, unmistakably, a hint of pride.

"Sorry, Cindy, but your father needs to know all the facts. He was going to find out eventually."

Their daughter let out a scoff. "Anyways, we both know that Professor Dumbledore will try to brush this under the rug, Father, and that can't happen. A teacher can't use transfiguration on a student, hurt him, and get away with it. Father, you need to do something about this. We can't let it slide. I'm already outlining a letter in my mind to send to the school board. This kind of behaviour is unacceptable, and they need to be held accountable."

The howler then disintegrated into ashes, leaving Lucius and Narcissa in stunned silence.

Fred and George Weasley slipped into a secluded corridor after dinner, their footsteps echoing softly in the dim light. Near curfew, they should have been heading back to their common room, but the twins had something more pressing on their minds. George had insisted on a private discussion, leading Fred into the quiet corner away from prying eyes and ears.

Fred glanced at his brother with curiosity. "Alright, Georgie. What's the matter?"

"We need to make things right—"

"Make things right? With who?"

"With that Slytherin first year we scared."

Fred blinked in confusion. "Why would we do that? We've never apologised to any blithering Slytherin before — Wait, hold on a mo'… if I'm recalling properly, it was your idea."

George stared at Fred, astonished. "Because what we did was wrong! I was wrong, Freddie. I thought you'd have grasped that too after this morning!"

Fred frowned. "Yeah, I can understand, Georgie but is it really necessary to apologise?"

George couldn't believe what his brother was saying. "Yes, it is! Merlin, Freddie, we frightened a first-year out of his wits. That's not the same as the usual harmless scares we do. He's probably terrified of us."

Fred scoffed. "So? It's not like we meant to scare him for life." Fred's brows knitted together as he studied his brother. "Is this really about the first year, or is it about Malfoy?"

George's face flushed with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. Just as he predicted, Fred was able to deduce his crush on Cynthia Malfoy after the Quidditch Cup incident. George had hoped his brother would keep quiet about it. And after the awkward conversation that ensued the day after the Quidditch Cup, he did. Until now.

George ran his hand through his hair, his words tumbling out in a jumbled rush. "N-no, it's, um, it's not about Malfoy. I-I mean, it's about us, uh, needing to, you know, grow up and recognize when our pranks go too far. Mum's been saying we need to be more mature, and I'm starting to think she's right. Look at the mess we're making."

Fred raised an eyebrow, his scepticism evident. "Oh, so now we're taking life advice from Mum—and Cynthia Malfoy? What's next, taking orders from Merlin himself? Should we add Filch to our list of mentors while we're at it?"

George clenched his jaw, his cheeks still tinged pink from the awkward admission. "Again, this isn't about Malfoy. It's about recognizing how our pranks can cross the line from fun to harmful. If you don't want to listen to Mum then fine. But Bill warned us about this—how easy it is for a joke to become cruel. We need to be more mindful."

Fred's expression hardened, but he sighed in resignation. "Alright, I get it. We'll be more careful. But come on, Malfoy's hardly the model of fairness herself. Didn't you hear how she yelled at Harry when her brother was the one to say that about our mother?"

George took a calming breath. "That's not the point, Freddie. Stop deflecting. We need to consider the impact of our actions. It's not just about pushing limits—it's about respecting them. We're not kids anymore. And whether you're with me or not, I'm going to apologise to that first year."

Fred hesitated, his usual bravado faltering and the smirk sliding off his face. "Fine, I'm with you, Georgie. But don't expect me to start apologising for every prank or joke that someone doesn't take kindly to. This better not become a habit, brother."

A/N: Ahhh, writing the ferret incident was my favourite part of this entire chapter! Special shout out to Momento for convincing me to write the F&G scene at the end, won't have it done if it wasn't for you. We shall see what kind of consequences occur to Prof. Moody and Dumbledore next chap, and a lot of interesting convos will take place there too! Let me know what you think of this chapter and on the ferret incident; I alway look forward to hearing your thoughts!