Learning to Live

Chapter 13: Professor Lynch

But the dramatic student response to his presence was no better in Draco's next class, nor the next, despite all that he dared to hope. He never thought he could look forward to lunch so much on so little an appetite. Whatever he had been doing to try to get his stomach excited about food, what he saw at his place at the High Table made him forget everything. Lying next to Remus' elbow as he ate, was today's unopened Daily Prophet. Across it the headlines nearly screamed, "Lucius Malfoy Protecting Aurors?"

He somehow managed not to miss his chair as he sat down, eyes fixated on the front page. Ignoring his empty plate and the food set out before him, he skimmed the article, keeping a set face. No doubt people were watching; since the start of the war everyone had started subscribing to the Daily Prophet, so everyone had read, and everyone was awaiting his response. He skipped over a few introductions and digressions, gleaning valuable information. "Top Auror Ronald Weasley claims analysis of the spells, while indeterminate, point to external aid during the preliminary attack...Malfoy occupies place publicly vacated by his son only days ago as most wanted...confirms communications begun with Lucius Malfoy...son's innocence looks favourably upon...Ministry pardon...possible sympathies towards son's cause...further information still needed..." He put the paper down, not needing to read any more of it. If Lucius was pardoned, Draco had a perfect idea of what he would do as soon as he was legally free, and it didn't fit at all with his own world view.

"How were your classes, Professor Malfoy?" asked the werewolf. Draco looked up with a start at him, suddenly realising where he was.

"Fairly well, thanks," he replied stiffly, in no mood to share any woes with Lupin, regardless of how many times they'd worked together. Snape snorted beside him, but was too busy discussing Harry's shortcomings to really let either of them become involved in Draco's conversation with Lupin.

"I don't think I can compare," Lupin began mildly, "but classes have also suffered disruptions. Students are settling in again after Yule break, and unaccustomed to changes in discipline. Especially when they come from the likes of us." The students had all been informed, of course, of Lupin's lycanthropy.

"No need to make it sound so polite," Draco told him, although his entire morning was already depressing him. "They are merely labouring under the illusion that we intend to murder them." He speared a bit of pie and began decidedly mashing it to smithereens with the back of his fork. "And we can only expect their friends to turn them around. Wasn't like this during the war. They needed us then, they needed the likes of you, but as soon as the danger's passed, I'm sure many of them are more than ready to stop fraternising with their rivals and people they normally wouldn't associate with themselves. Hogwarts is going to be just as divided it was before."

"Oh no, Draco, they've learned too much from the war to allow that. They'll come around. As I said, this all just came as a shock--"

"How many more Icarus Blakes am I going to get in my classes by the end of the day, Lupin? How many more to remind me of my blood betrayal, the fact that I'm not fit to be a Malfoy, that I was so useless I couldn't even save--"

"Don't say it, Draco," Lupin interrupted him immediately. He put a hand on Draco's shoulder, ignoring the fact that the young man promptly tried to shrug him off. "You'll hear enough about that without having to repeat it yourself. The war is over, and you mustn't feel guilty over what was not your fault. You did the most you could, as much as any of us."

"Well it wasn't enough, apparently," snapped Draco, rising from his seat and all too aware that many students' heads turned in his direction.

"Draco, thank you for volunteering yourself," came the wizened voice of Dumbledore. "I had decided the first person to rise from the table during lunch would coach the first few Quidditch practises until we find someone to fill Madame Hooch's position. I think your suggestion is excellent; it would be an excellent way to build trust between the new referee and the players, who will, in turn, inform their friends. I suggest you and Professor Potter alternate weeks, in that case."

"Fine, sir," Draco answered, walking away with a schoolboy sulk. He left so quickly he didn't hear the Slytherin table groan as Snape, finally releasing Harry from his verbal whipping, announced Icarus Blake had lost their House a hundred and fifty points for outrageously disrespectful behaviour towards a professor, which should teach everyone else a lesson too.

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Two weeks later the snow had not yet melted off the grounds, but the Gryffindor Quidditch team was eager to practise, at least. They had booked the field at the earliest possible chance, and Draco had taken referee duty. Harry was still in his office, trying to mark papers while Snape brewed yet another top-secret potion not yet fully perfected. Having not considered bringing any particular mode of transportation after Apparating for so long, Draco had to borrow Harry's old Firebolt--still in top condition--to be of any use.

The captain walked out of the changing rooms first, making light furrows in the snow as he met with Draco. They'd only had a few classes together, but Draco could tell this one would be no problem. Adrian Cardiff was an agreeable sixth year who didn't seem to be bothered by much of anything. "Looks like good flying today, Mr Cardiff. Are all your team ready?"

For the first time since they'd met, Cardiff looked uneasy. "Well, Professor, I just have to warn you about something. That's why I came out early. It's just that Tyler Meadowes is one of our Beaters."

"Ah." That wasn't so much of a problem as an annoyance. Draco had known a few of the Meadowes family, and although one of them was a co-worker, the youngest Meadowes refused to accept Draco's true identity. He never called him "Professor" or "Sir," and always spoke to him with ill-disguised impudence. The only thing that really bothered Draco about Tyler Meadowes was the fact that he never failed to mention Narcissa Circe [Black] Malfoy. Time to put on a Snape face. "We shall have to hope that you keep him focused on the game, so you do not lose your chances for the House Cup."

"I will, sir," replied Cardiff, and Draco almost thought he was going to salute him. But the captain turned back to the pitch, and Draco followed on Harry's Firebolt. It gave him a small iotum of pleasure to soar like this, freely, even if he was supposed to keep an eye on the students playing. He accelerated to the middle of the field, high above, and watched as the players one by one flew out and assembled before Cardiff. He caught Meadowes sneaking nasty glares at him, only to be barked at by an apparently very stern Cardiff.

There had once been dreams about playing Quidditch professionally, about pursuing ridiculous dreams and learning how to drive a Muggle automalilomolo or whatever it was called. Prospects like that opened up to him again, but he feared that if he went outside the nicely guided confines of a position at Hogwarts, he wouldn't know where to begin or what to do with himself. Not that he knew what to do with himself now, but Hogwarts was a start. He didn't want to fall back on what his family had done for generations, that is, live off the ever-present family fortune.

The team apparently could take care of itself with no trouble, so Draco did a few loops, dive-bombed a wandering bird and came back up to a steady hover around the field, watching the team's tactics. The Keeper wasn't that bad, and Cardiff was actually a superb Chaser. Some of their formations were a bit boring, but it wasn't his job to advise them about that. He found himself watching a glint of short blonde hair as it mounted a broom on the edge of the pitch.

Cautiously, he withdrew his wand from his holster and flew down to meet the intruder. He was wearing thick black robes that day, with a high collar against the wind, but he felt as if he maybe should have chosen lighter attire once he saw the woman who, face upturned, had spotted him and was heading his way. She sidled alongside him and stuck out her hand in a very business-like fashion, about to introduce herself when a Bludger suddenly streaked between them. Draco looked up furiously and just managed to notice Meadowes' smug expression before the boy began to chase the ball with his bat.

"Eileen," she said, smiling, sticking out her hand again.

"Sorry, I'm Draco Malfoy, not Eileen," he told her absent-mindedly, shaking her hand perfunctorily as he watched Meadowes with great irritation. "I didn't know Dumbledore was able to have you come so soon. The staff's been waiting." She must be the new replacement for Madame Hooch. He himself was feeling very glad for the fact; it meant he could brood more. That is, unless his visits with the new therapist tonight could somehow miraculously cure all his problems. Ugh.

"Have they?" she asked, surprised. "Oh well. Some things can't be avoided when you're away. Something wrong?"

Great. His nose, with his characteristic sneer, had twitched in irritation at the thought of the neuromancer; Harry always called him a rabbit for it. Now she had noticed it, she with the lovely blonde hair so much like his mother, with a classic elegance that went straight for his heartaches. Without even knowing his defences had been so instantly defeated by her insidiously heavenly presence, he blurted out, "Oh, it's just that I've got to meet this old spinster later and tell her all my problems and favourite colours and foods and then she'll tell me how to fix my ruined, useless life. I've been wondering what to tell her so she'll leave me alone. Some wench named Lynch."

"Really?"

"Yes. It's very irritating, being fussed over either for being a hero or a villain. I'm surprised you haven't tried to hex or congratulate me yet," he told her, even more annoyed to know that her looks were getting to him. He had too many problems to deal with this feeling inside him, even if it was hinting at romance and happiness and silly thoughts about flowers and Chocolate Frogs.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," she told him calmly. "Can I call you Draco? Or do you want me to call you Professor Malfoy?"

"'Draco' would be fine. The less association with my surname, the better," he told her, ducking another Bludger Meadowes had aimed his way. It narrowly missed his head. "GET OFF IT, MEADOWES!" There was no point in bringing him down for punishment; he couldn't prove it, and Draco had given up on trying to convince anyone by now.

"Maybe he's just looking for someone to take his anger out on. When they're that age they'll lash out at a lot of things, and sometimes they're too blind to see what they're hurting," Eileen replied with a shrug. Draco noticed she was a bit older than he was, but experience was always nice in a witch. And the fact that she hovered perfectly on her broom, proving she had tolerable, if not excellent, poise. "Do you like Quidditch, Draco?"

"It says so on my Chocolate Frog card," Draco replied, finally smiling. "I was Seeker when I attended Hogwarts. Were you at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, I was, as a matter of fact, but a few years before you," she replied. "I might have left before you were even made Seeker for Slytherin. I do watch professional Quidditch occasionally." They spent a few more minutes discussing Puddlemere United, Falmouth Falcons, and the virtues of formation looping in the Sumbawanga Sunrays. She seemed particularly interested in what Draco thought of Irish National. A few more Bludgers passed their way, but Draco ducked them without comment, too caught up in describing Quidditch plays to really bother getting worked up about a kid's silly stunts. They watched as the Gryffindor team tried a few more ploys. Draco realised he didn't really need to be there now that the official Flying Instructor was here, but stayed anyway. Meeting new people who didn't want him imprisoned was always refreshing. She applauded as Cardiff made a successful Reverse Pass that got the Quaffle through. Draco clapped too, much to his own surprise, and couldn't stop himself from smiling at her.

"Well, er, how was your Yule holiday?" Draco enquired as Cardiff flew on. It would do well to seem concerned about a fellow staff member.

"Full of unexpected things," Eileen said, looking rather oddly. Her eyes seemed a bit unfocused for a minute, and Draco reached a hand out to steady her lest she topple off her broom and he would have to save her in a dashingly, sickeningly heroic way.

"All you all right?" he asked, now truly concerned once he recovered from the momentary freezing of all mental processes in his brain when he made physical contact with her wrist, her wonderful slender wrist. The smile she granted him made him glad he was gripping tightly to the Firebolt--he might have fallen off.

"No worse than you, Draco," she chuckled, and he became very glad he was still on Harry's broom. "Let's have a full session tonight, since Dumbledore's letting you bring a friend. Dumbledore said you could bring a friend if you wanted. It was really nice to meet you. Maybe we could discuss some more Quidditch; my brother Aidan plays Seeker for Ireland. Sorry to disappoint you about being an 'old spinster,' though. I'll see you at dinner!" With that, she flew back towards the castle, leaving a flabbergasted Draco to take a Bludger in the side that cost Gryffindor ten points.

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Harry had hardly any advance warning before the door to his and Snape's office burst open and Draco, broom in hand, strode into the room in a right state. He sat down on a chair before Harry's desk without being invited, paying no attention to the stack of papers Harry had before him or to the fact that Snape was working in the room next door. "So, er, you've come to return my old Firebolt?" Harry asked, putting down his quill and hoping he wasn't in trouble for something he didn't know he'd done until it was much much too late. Draco could be difficult like that, but then Harry realised that if anything had been Harry's fault he would have known long before this, mainly by the Howler and by the presence of Draco Malfoy hovering above his desk glaring accusingly at him like a vulture. Neither seemed about to arrive upon him, so he relaxed and decided to play the part of the jolly supportive mate.

"That witch!" Draco declared, and Harry recognised the sulk at once. This was going to be difficult. "Disgusting! She surprised me while I was refereeing. I thought she was Hooch's replacement, but it was Lynch!"

"Lynch?" asked Harry blankly, looking at Draco over a second year's paper on Shrinking Solutions.

"Professor Eileen Lynch, Healer in Neuromancy, sister of Aidan Lynch, Seeker for Ireland National!" spat Draco. "There I was thinking she was rather interesting and nice for not wanting to hex me straight off, and it turns out she's the neuromancer. It makes me furious for not seeing it; she didn't mention her last name, nor what position she was filling. She sneaked up on me before I could even stop myself from smiling."

"You were smiling at her?" Harry asked, surprised, barely suppressing a smile. Now this was interesting.

"Well well, this is certainly the liveliest and loudest we've seen you for a while, Malfoy," Snape said, coming in from the other room. He was wiping his hands with a towel that emitted a faintly sickeningly sweet odour. "What's wrong?"

"Because I'm lively and loud you immediately assume something's wrong?" asked Draco, quietly now. Neither of the two bothered to inform him that retiring and brooding was about all they had ever gotten out of Draco for the past few weeks. All that they had ever gotten out of him in years, actually.

"Yes," replied Snape without hesitation. "When I looked out the window to watch you bellow at Meadowes in the most appalling tenor I have ever heard, Lynch was heading into the castle on a broomstick. One can only assume she was either a severe insult to your reason or your arrogance."

"Mutually exclusive as always," added Harry, but turned back to his papers when Snape gave him The Look.

"Harry, I don't care how much work Severus has given you; you have to come with me tonight," Draco hissed. "If I'm not mad now, she may just drive me there!"

"Come with you tonight for what?" asked Snape, having not been informed of the suspicions about his godson's condition.

"Relax, Draco. I said I'd come. We just had to talk to her about something, Professor Snape," Harry covered for Draco, not sure if Malfoy wanted to tell him about his appointments or not.

"I can't believe I actually laughed with her about Dangerous Dai Llewyllen!" muttered Draco, flinging Harry's broomstick towards the wall, where it righted itself and came to a rest.

"You...LAUGHED?" asked Harry even more incredulously. Draco was so annoyed with himself that he went up to his room to sulk, slamming the door behind him. Harry and Snape exchanged amused looks, and quickly pretended it hadn't happened as they returned to their work.

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"I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this. This is so stupid, Potter...why did I listen to Pomfrey?" They waited outside Lynch's office, listening as she did what she called 'freshening the place up for visitors.' "Are neuromancers always this unprofessional?"

"Maybe it's just her style," murmured Harry, watching Draco pace back and forth. He'd never seen him quite so obviously nervous. "You listened to Pomfrey 'cos otherwise she'd hound you day and night."

The door swung open, and Lynch stood at the end of it with a broad smile. She'd curled her blonde hair, and it made her look much much younger. Harry couldn't see how Draco could have fallen for her, except for the fact that her nose looked a lot like the one Draco had inherited from Narcissa. He would have liked to think Draco's good looks came from the Black side of his family, along with Sirius'. "Come in, come in, Professor Potter, how nice to meet you. I don't think we got a chance at dinnertime. Did you know I'm teaching beside Professor Lupin? I'm so glad none of the students seem to mind, but why am I talking about Remus? Come in, here, Draco, could you sit on the sofa?" It looked like one of those liver chairs Harry had seen on television that psychiatrists always had, but when Draco sat uncertainly down on it, it tilted, one of the arms wrapping around his middle.

"What is this?" Draco looked about ready to pull out his wand and hex Lynch, but Harry stood too close to his line of vision.

"Sometimes people get too...excited. It's more for my own protection, really," Lynch looked uncomfortable, but then tried to be cheerful again. "That's why Harry's along. Harry, why don't you sit on the edge of that? Here..." she tapped the restraining arm with her wand, and it released Draco at once. "While you're in the trance, Harry'll hold you if you try anything. That better?"

"Trance?" both men said at once.

"Well yes; oh don't tell me you've never gone to a neuromancer before?" she asked, as if it was a rite of passage every wizard had to undergo. She looked down at the crystal vial in her hands. "Severus was kind enough to brew me some of this, and on such a short notice. Seemed very curious as to why I wanted it tonight, as a matter of fact, hmm..."

"You want to use the VeritaSomnium on me? Are you mad?" Draco asked, looking about to dart out of the room again. Harry put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down. It wasn't difficult.

"Why? What does it do?" Harry asked.

"The drinker is put in a trance for about an hour, give or take how strongly he fights it. Any questions posed he'll answer truthfully. The difference it has from Veritaserum is that it can probe into the subconscious, into things even the drinker isn't aware of. Which really makes my job so much easier," smiled Lynch, sitting down in a violet armchair before them. "Now drink up." She wiggled the vial before Draco's face.

"Great Merlin, witch, too much of what I know is classified information!" insisted Draco.

"I signed a contract already. Anything you say does not travel outside of this room. Harry'll sign it too, as soon as we're done with our sessions. Now come on, drink up. You have to trust me if we're going to make you better, Draco," smiled Lynch, and that flash of beauty weakened his defences. Grudgingly, he accepted the vial and drank it down...it was sickeningly sweet, and gave off an odour Harry recognised from the towel Snape had used to wipe his hands.

"That's it...there we are..." Draco was closing his eyes, lying back and holding his head. Harry could see a heavy drowsiness come over him, and wished he could sleep as well. "Are you asleep?"

"Yes," came the dull murmur, and Harry had to stifle a laugh.

"Good. State your full name and age, please," Lynch said, suddenly business-like with her parchment and quill before her.

"Draco Lucius Wesley Dominic Geoffrey Tristram Aubrey Kevin Malfoy, twenty-two."

"That's your full name?" asked Harry, surprised at its length.

"Yes." His tone was matter-of-fact, but bored.

"Okay," muttered Lynch as she finished writing all of it down. "What's bothering you the most right now?"

A pause entered, and Harry could feel Draco stiffen beside him. "There is something I told myself to forget, but it is buried deep. It comes into my dreams sometimes."

"Can you tell me what it is, Draco?"

The blond scrunched up his nose, concentrating, but then let out a gasp as if in pain. He curled up into a fetal position, knees drawn against his chest as he rocked sideways, a small cry escaping. "I...can't...it's hard. It hurts...please...no..." What could make Draco feel this way? Was it those two weeks of torture? "Don't want to..." It was like watching a child suffer.

"That's okay, Draco. We'll talk about it some other time. You may stop trying to remember," Lynch said, and almost immediately Draco relaxed, a calm descending upon him. "Does your conscious self know of this thing you're supposed to forget? What else is bothering you?" She was writing furiously, however.

"Only in my dreams do I know, but I forget once I wake up. I am also bothered by what people say about my mother," replied Draco, quite steadily.

"Tell me about your mother. What happened?"

"It was my fault," replied Draco, and Harry wished he could tell him he was wrong. "I was..." Small diamond-like droplets appeared around Draco's light eyelashes... "I was sent on a mission into a forest in Scotland, technically non-magical, to do some reconnaissance work on suspected Death Eater activity in the area, particularly among some of the trolls there. There was a horde of Muggles, so many, at least fifty, sounded like Americans, picnicking right in front of a Deatheater camp! The stupidity of it! Harry Potter was with me, as was Ronald Weasley, in our Auror robes. I didn't know at the time but...but Mum was on holiday. She was riding, got lost, probably. She never had a good sense of direction. The Death Eaters, they knew her, of course, but we had to get the Muggles out of there. It was all I could do to get my hood up and cast a Shielding Charm around my lot before..." Draco winced.

"Yes? What happened?" Lynch eyed Harry, particularly because he was looking equally uncomfortable.

"Some fool set loose the trolls!" hissed Draco, hands clenched hard at his sides. "The horse spooked...I couldn't get there in time to help her and of course I had twenty Muggles on my hands all running around and the Death Eaters were setting upon us so they could take the Shielding Charms off. She fell off when a troll swung his club at the horse. I was going to cast a protection on her but one of the Muggles ran straight into me, he was so eager to get away from the clearing now! By the time I got to my feet and Immobilised and hid all of them, she was gone. I found her...her body...oh Merlin...she just lay there, like a rag doll. I called her name, I told her I was there, I was going to help her but she didn't respond. I don't know what happened to her. But she's...she's dead now..." Those liquid pearls were running down Draco's cheeks now, and it was an angry sort of grief that made the chair heat up dangerously, a bit of his wild magic at work.

"There there, Draco. Why do you think it is your fault?"

"If I'd paid more attention...if I hadn't listened so much to Dumbledore about making sure none of the Death Eaters recognised me...if I immobilised the troll instead of protecting the Muggles...but I couldn't...I didn't. I failed her," gasped Draco, chest heaving for breath. He clutched at his heart, and Harry felt his scar itch. That should have been impossible...he may have been connected to Voldemort, but surely he wasn't powerful enough to still break through Harry's Occlumency?

"No you didn't! You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You saved dozens of lives that time, and you've saved hundreds more with what you've done in the service of the Aurors, in the service of all of us. There is no one to blame for the death of your mother, other than chance and circumstance, Draco. You have to realise that," murmured Lynch.

"NO! I just as well killed her! Nobody knows what happened. Nobody believes me. I found her first...they all think I did it. I see the accusation in their eyes, all of them! No matter what they say I know they're thinking, 'he killed his mother.' She wasn't even actively involved at that time. Just out on holiday," hissed Draco painfully, still silently weeping. His head twitched a little, and his eyelids fluttered as his legs jerked.

"What's happening?" asked Harry, alarmed at the way Draco was reacting. The sofa was getting warmer and warmer.

"He's fighting against the potion's effects. He'll wake up in a little while, but it'll be very tiring...see, there. Watch his eyes," Lynch said softly, leaning forward a little. Above the soft curve of his tear-stained cheeks, his lashes fluttered upwards, and Draco blinked. His body, tense before, now suddenly relaxed.

"What...what's going on? What happened?" He felt the wetness on his cheeks, puzzled, and wondered why his hands were clenched in fists. He let go, and sat up. "What did you do to me? What did I tell you?" he insisted, markedly different from the suffering, angrily weeping Draco of before. Harry wished he could comfort Draco, but even he wouldn't know where to begin.

"I think we should have another session tomorrow night. You have a lot of unresolved issues," Lynch told him quietly. "I can't tell you about what you said because I still have to make sense of it myself, but you can ask Harry here."

"You can be certain I shall do that," replied Draco with all the threatening disdain of his father. "Good evening, Eileen. Next time you try to be my friend, do it the direct way. Harry, we're going." With a defined flounce, he rose and swept out the door.

"Tell him as little as possible, Harry," she said, before he followed. "There is something very wrong with him, and it isn't about Narcissa Malfoy."