The first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson of the year crackles with a tense, nervous energy. Whispers about Professor Moody have been circulating since the Welcoming Feast, growing wilder with each retelling. Now, as he enters the classroom, the air shifts palpably, the chatter dying instantly.
He limps to the front of the room, his wooden leg thudding against the stone floor with each step. His scarred face is illuminated by the dim light filtering through the high windows, and his mismatched eyes—one normal, one whirling unnaturally—sweep the room like searchlights.
"Alastor Moody," he announces gruffly, his voice a low growl that demands attention. Turning to the blackboard, he scrawls his name in jagged, uneven letters.
He spins back to face us, his magical eye still roving, locking onto faces briefly before shifting to the next.
"Ministry malcontent," he continues, his tone rough as gravel grinding underfoot. "And your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I'm here because Dumbledore asked me. End of story. Goodbye. The end. Any questions?"
No one dares to move. The room is so quiet I can hear my own breath, shallow and nervous.
"Right." Moody's lip curls. "Let's make one thing clear: when it comes to the Dark Arts, I believe in a practical approach." His magical eye swivels suddenly, focusing on Seamus Finnigan. "But before we get into that—Finnigan! Gum stays on the desk, not underneath it."
Seamus jumps, his face reddening as a few students snicker. Moody glares at the room, silencing the laughter instantly.
"Now," he growls, resuming his pacing, his wooden leg making a steady thud-thud-thud. "Who here can tell me how many Unforgivable Curses there are?"
Hermione's hand shoots into the air, as expected.
"Three, sir," she says promptly.
"And why are they called that?" Moody asks, his voice quieter but no less intense.
"Because they are unforgivable," Hermione replies. "Using any one of them—"
"—will earn you a one-way ticket to Azkaban," Moody finishes, nodding. "Correct." His gaze sweeps the room again, his magical eye moving erratically.
"The Ministry," he continues, "would have you believe you're too young to see what these curses do. That you're too delicate. Too fragile." He sneers. "I say different. You need to know what you're up against. You need to be prepared."
His magical eye swivels again, this time to the jar on his desk. He pulls the lid off, reaching inside with his gnarled fingers and withdrawing a spider, its legs wriggling in the air.
"Which curse shall we start with?" His gaze snaps to Ron. "Weasley! Give us one."
Ron freezes, his ears turning red. "Er—well—there's the Imperius Curse."
Moody's lips curl into something resembling a smile, though it holds no humor. "Ah, yes. Your father would know all about that, wouldn't he? Ministry dealings. Messy business." His tone is laced with sarcasm, and I hear Draco snicker behind me.
Moody holds up the spider, studying it for a moment before flicking his wand. The creature leaps into the air, suspended by an invisible thread, its legs twitching in panic. He moves his wand slightly, and the spider begins to somersault, dance, and twist in midair.
The class erupts into a mixture of nervous laughter and horrified gasps.
"Harmless, isn't it?" Moody mocks. "But imagine this—" He pauses, his tone darkening. "Imagine if it were you. Jumping, twirling, unable to stop. Would it still be funny?"
The laughter dies away. He lowers the spider into a bucket of water, where it writhes helplessly.
"Scores of witches and wizards claimed they acted under the Imperius Curse during the war," Moody says, his voice growing sharper. "But here's the question: how do you tell the truth-tellers from the liars?"
The room is silent, the weight of his words pressing down on us.
His gaze sweeps the room. "Another! Another!" His magical eye locks onto Neville. "Longbottom, is it? Up!"
Neville rises slowly, his face pale.
"Professor Sprout tells me you have an aptitude for Herbology," Moody says, his voice softer now, almost encouraging.
Neville nods. "There's the, um... the Cruciatus Curse."
"Correct!" Moody says, clapping his hands. "Particularly nasty. The torture curse.
Watch."He flicks his wand, and the spider begins to writhe, emitting high-pitched squeals that echo through the room.
"Stop it!" Hermione shouts, rising to her feet. "Can't you see it's bothering him? Stop it!"
Moody stops, lowering his wand. Neville looks shaken, staring at the spider as though it might spring back to life.
"You'll be all right, Longbottom," Moody says, his tone gentler now. "Better to be shaken now than dead later."
Neville doesn't respond, his hands trembling on the edge of his desk. I lean toward him. "Neville, are you okay?" I whisper.
He nods slightly but doesn't look at me.
"Perhaps you could give us the last Unforgivable Curse, Miss Malfoy," Moody says suddenly, turning toward me.
My heart leaps into my throat. I force myself to meet his gaze.
"The Killing Curse," I say, my voice steady despite the nervous thudding in my chest.
"Good," Moody replies, nodding approvingly. He flicks his wand, and the spider disintegrates in an instant.
"The Killing Curse," he repeats, his voice heavy. "Only one person is known to have survived it." His gaze shifts to Harry, his magical eye swiveling as he limps closer.
"And he's sitting in this room."
The class files out in tense silence, the lesson's weight still hanging in the air. I linger, watching as Neville sits at his desk, unmoving.
"Neville," I say softly, approaching him. "Are you okay?"
He looks up, his eyes haunted. "That curse," he whispers. "The Cruciatus Curse. My parents..." His voice cracks, and he shakes his head.
I don't press him. Instead, I nod and say quietly, "You were brave."
Neville looks at me, startled. "Brave?"
"Yes," I say firmly. "You didn't run or hide. That's bravery."
A small, tentative smile crosses his face. We leave the classroom together, the echoes of Moody's lesson following us like shadows.
YOU ARE READING
human again / hp.
Fanfiction"I already forgave you, so why can't you forgive yourself?" She's a Malfoy. He's a Potter. Celeste Malfoy has always walked a fine line between the world she was born into and the one she chose for herself. At Hogwarts, nothing is simple. Not friend...
