A/N:This is my first harry potter fanfic, I hope you like it!

Chapter 1

I sit, casually drumming my long, white fingers on the table; my characteristic sneer set firmly in place. Where the hell is Moody? As if is having double DADA with that paranoid, poor excuse for a teacher wasn't bad enough he has to show up late every lesson.

'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' a voice roars, we all jump a foot out of are chairs; a few students, mostly bally Griffindors, whip out their wands. Moody pauses briefly to give these students a smile, or his version of a smile: a grimace. I growl quietly and by this time Moody has made his way to the front of the classroom and is clunking about on his wooden leg, setting something that looked like a giant screen up.

'Huh?' Crabbe grunts thickly. I choose not to answer on account of the fact that I have no idea what he is doing but am not thick enough to draw attention to that fact.

'Right,' He turns his grizzled face towards us. 'We have finished our work on the Imperious Curse,'

Good I think savagely, I was getting annoyed with saint bloody Potter being the only one who could throw it off, on top of being the Hogwarts champion. I can't believe he hoodwinked the goblet, the bloody cheat. My father was so angry…I decide I don't want to go along that train of thought and turn my attention back to Professor Moody.

' We are now stating work on the Memorum Dura curse. This curse forces the victim to relive their worst memory and is popular among dark wizards as a form of torture. I have rigged this screen so we will be able to watch the victim's memory as well. You will each have a turn.'

Collective murmuring breaks out before Moody adds 'I will then teach you how to block this curse.'

Huh? He is going to perform this curse on us before telling us how to block it, what is that all about? Shouldn't he tell us how to block it then perform it on us to see who could throw it off? I don't have time to ponder this any longer, or give any thought as to what my worst memory would be because Moody is now calling people up to the front. The Slytherin section of the class watch with poorly disguised eagerness whereas the Gryffindor half are murmuring words of encouragement as Parvati steps forwards.

'Relashio Memorum Dura' Moody intones and with a short gasp of surprise Patil sinks slowly towards the ground, her body frozen but her eyes flickering manically. I frown slightly at the sick grin on Moody's face before I turn my attention quickly to the screen with the rest of the class.

Flashing different colours for a minute, the screen whirs ominously before a picture forms. It shows the young Patil twins playing exploding snap in a warm-coloured sitting room. The scene is peaceful and homely when suddenly a scream pierces the air. Looking up in surprise, the twins watch their mother rush in, tears streaming down her face. 'Oh girls, it's…it's Alfie. He's-' she gulps 'he's died.' The twins questioning gazes instantly turn to matching grimaces of horror before they both run out of the room. The scene switches to show a kitchen, in which a stone cold cocker spaniel lies curled up in a basket looking like he is sleeping, the Patils crouched around him crying silent tears and stroking his fur. The picture distorts then vanishes leaving only a shocked silence in its path.

After a minute Patil comes to with a shuddering gasp, and though I am slightly shocked I maintain my cold stone guise. Brown immediately steps forward to comfort her crying friend. The mutterings of the class cease with a short bark from Moody but I am caught up in an inner turmoil. What was my worst memory? Was it something I would want the rest of the class to see? No. I snort, especially not the fucking Golden Trio. Pushing those thoughts aside, I snap out of my reverie as the next member of class is called up.

The pattern is repeated many times: a trembling student, an awful memory, much comforting from friends. Most of the students' worst memories were petty - deaths of pets or grandparents, even arguments that had gotten out of control with siblings. Nothing too horrifying, though I am disturbed at the sadistic look lining Moody's ravenged face. Old Potty's memory got everyone cooing and fawning over him, the bloody bastard. It showed him, the Weasel and that fool Lockhart going down into the chamber of secrets and his desperate battle with the humongous basilisk, it poisoning him, his healing and the defeat of the memory of the young Dark Lord. I have to say I am slightly impressed, that thing was huge and he was only a twelve-year-old boy armed with a sword. Though if muggle-loving fool's bird hadn't of pecked the eyes out of the snake, potter would have been dead meat. The weasel's memory is similar, him learning that it was his sister that had been taken down to the chamber and the events following.

All too soon it is my turn, 'Mr Malfoy!' growls Moody. Blaise turns and gives me an encouraging slap on the back, I wince as he catches a concealed bruise and see Pansy's eyes narrow slightly. Ignoring them both, I slowly drag my sore and protesting limbs to the front of the class. As the movement tweaks my injuries I have a sudden insight as to what is going to show up on that screen. My fathers face, towering over me, a wand, whip or fist clenched. A spasm of fear shoots down my spine as I turn to lock gazes with Moody. His grey eyes narrow and I hear the spell.

'Relashio Memorum Dura!'

My world melts and turns black.

Thank you very much for reading my work. Please review and tell my what you think, this is my first fic so some tips on how to make it better would be appreciated. I don't have a beta so sorry if there are any mistakes, I did try and check it through though…

Rori xxx