As was often the case, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was a hot topic of conversation at breakfast the next day, overshadowed only by tales of the nervy first years' escapades and, of course, the Triwizard Tournament. "There must be some sort of way to enter yourself," Draco complained. "It's entirely unfair that we can't submit our names just because we're too young — I mean, what does Dumbledore know? And maybe if he'd gotten us decent teachers, we'd be more capable." And he stabbed some scrambled eggs with his fork.
Aurora thought it likely that there would be some way around the submission process, but even if she did manage to get her name in, anyone would know she was not of age and at least check if they didn't know. Still, the means of taking submissions for the Tournament had not been announced, and it seemed the fifth and sixth years were not giving up hope just yet.
Cassius, as one of the few sixth year Slytherins who would probably be old enough to enter the tournament when the submissions opened in late October, regaled Aurora with a tale about Annabelle Glendower's attempt at brewing an ageing potion the evening before, just in case.
"Everyone knows you can't brew an ageing potion in an evening," he said with a smirk, "but Annabelle's Annabelle, so she tried. She's in the hospital wing now. Lost her eyebrows and shrank five inches."
Aurora winced. "Remind me never to attempt to brew an Ageing Potion in a single evening then. Are you going to put your name in then?"
"Long as its after my seventeenth, absolutely." He grinned, leaning back on the bench. "I rather fancy a bit of that eternal glory — and a thousand galleons wouldn't exactly go amiss either, would they? As long as Quidditch isn't on, it isn't like I've anything else to do."
"Mister Warrington," Snape interrupted, standing above them with his lips pursed. Aurora avoided meeting his eyes — it seemed that she hated him more and more with every passing year. "Miss Black. Your timetables. Warrington, if you intend to represent your school, I suggest you learn to tuck your shirt in properly. And Miss Black..." She bristled at the title, knowing that unlike most teachers who used it for ease, he used it to get on her nerves. "Do ensure you remember the Headmaster's words from last night. No excursions to the Dark Forest."
She feigned a smile as she took her timetable from his hand. "I have never broken such a rule, Professor," she simpered, though they both knew it wasn't true. "It's lovely to be back at Hogwarts."
He looked down his nose disdainfully and muttered, "Quite," before moving on.
Once he was out of earshot, Cassius asked, "Is he always like this?"
Aurora just rolled her eyes. "When I'm concerned, yes. Sorry you were bothered by it. Oh, you've got Moody's class this afternoon, lucky — I haven't got him until this Thursday. History first — Ravenclaw again — Hagrid's class with Gryffindor, and Arithmancy." She tutted. "At least there's one redeeming quality."
Cassius grinned. "But Professor Binns lectures with such passion! I can't believe you don't enjoy it."
She shoved his shoulder lightly. "Just tell me what Moody's like, won't you? So I can prepare? I'll let you know whatever Devil creature Professor Hagrid's managed to dredge out of the forest? Who knows — it might come in handy in the tournament."
Laughing, Cassius knocked her shoulder in return and said, "You've a deal, Black. Merlin knows the class'll be an interesting one."
-*
History was predictably boring, though Aurora did her best to take some coherent notes from Binns' lecture. When the time came for Care of Magical Creatures, Aurora headed down with her classmates, seeing that the Gryffindors were already there.
"There's some sort of crates," said Theodore, walking on his tiptoes to see. "I've no idea what's in it."
"I'm sure it's something wickedly dangerous," Blaise said, grinning.
"You look cheerful about that now," said Daphne, sniffing. "But just wait until it takes your arm off."
"Greengrass, even the most foolish creature would not try to harm my good looks."
They all simply laughed at that, heading down and catching the last of Hagrid's explanation to the Gryffindors. "The Skrewts've only just hatched," he was saying, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves. Thought we could make a fun little project of it."
Aurora stared at the rattling cages — even Potter and the other Gryffindors looked wary. "And why would we want to raise them?" Draco asked in a cold voice. Crabbe and Goyle laughed, though Aurora was more preoccupied with trying to find out what a Skrewt was and why she had never come across the name. A small explosion went off before Draco continued, "I mean, what do they do? What is the point of them?"
Hagrid opened and closed his mouth as though stumped by the question. "That's next lesson," he said eventually, which to Aurora sounded like he simply didn't know. "Yer just feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll want ter try 'em on a few different things. I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer, bu' I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake — just try 'em out with a bit of each."
That did not sound promising, Aurora thought, but at least they were kept in crates and therefore less likely to maul them to death than some other creatures. It could be worse.
Some of their classmates dove right in to start feeding the Skrewts, but Aurora kept a distance, not wanting to touch the squelchy frog liver even if she had five layers of gloves on. She was not alone in her reticence — Pansy said, for around the millionth time, that she was "this close" to dropping the class entirely, and the only one of the girls who volunteered to feed the Skrewts a bit of snake was Millicent, who immediately squealed and jumped back, as the crate rattled around.
"Why couldn't we just study unicorns?" she muttered, and the rest of them echoed their agreement.
"Muggle Studies would be better than this," muttered Daphne, earning herself scathing looks from both Lucille and Pansy. "Well, it would certainly be safer, wouldn't it?"
Over the other side of the crates, Dean Thomas let out a yell — one of the Skrewts had just burned his hand, its end having exploded. "That can happen when they blast off," Hagrid said, nodding.
"Merlin save us," Blaise murmured, staring up at the sky.
"Ew, Hagrid," Lavender Brown started, "What's that pointy thing on it?"
"Some of them have got stings!" Hagrid said cheerfully. "I reckon they're the males, the females have got these sort of sucker things on their bellies, I reckon it's to suck blood."
At that, Gwendolyn went slightly pale and took many steps back from the crates.
"Well, I can certainly see why we're raising them," Draco drawled, rolling his eyes. "I mean, who wouldn't want a pet that can burn, sting and bite all at once?"
Aurora laughed, stopping abruptly when Hermione Granger snapped, "Just because they're not very pretty doesn't mean they're not useful. Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?"
Aurora stared at her. Granger knew fine well that their professor did, in fact, want nothing more than a pet dragon. She caught Potter's eye just as he grinned, and quickly smoothed out her own expression, tutting.
"I hate this school sometimes," Pansy said as they made their way back up to the castle at the end of class. "Blast-Ended Skrewts! I don't even think those are legal to breed!"
"I'm not going anywhere near them if I can help it," Aurora declared. "I don't want my robes singed off."
"Oh, Merlin, can you imagine? Still, at least nothing's almost killed Draco today."
"There's still Arithmancy," Draco said, pulling a face. "And it's deadly boring."
Aurora rolled her eyes. "Only because you don't pay attention. It's a fascinating subject if you put in the work."
"Yeah, but putting in the work for — what did she call them? — binomials is just boring. There's so much maths involved now!"
"But the maths is fun," Aurora insisted, to dubious looks. "It all fits together and makes sense, you just have to work at it. It's just like a puzzle."
Her friends just laughed, and they went on up to lunch.
-*
The first opportunity Aurora got that evening, she slipped into a seat next to Cassius in the common room and asked about his N.E.W.T. Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Alastor Moody. He was one of only three Slytherins she knew to be studying it, and by far the one she knew best. Dora had told her lots about Moody, of course, but she suspected his approach teaching a group of children would be at least somewhat different than training an Auror.
"He's honestly kind of intimidating," Cassius told her first, picking over his words. "Which I guess isn't a surprise considering..." He made a wide gesture which finished in him pointing to his eye. "And the Auror thing. You should have seen the look he gave Mulciber." Aurora grimaced.
"That's hardly surprising, though, is it? What did he teach?"
"About the war, first of all. Kind of threw us in at the deep end, talking about curses and Inferi. He says he wants to find a live specimen. Well, not live, but..."
"Oh, Merlin."
"Then he spoke about Dementors, Azkaban..." He slowed when he saw her wince, but she tried to cover it. "He says we have to understand Dark magic to fight it, so that's what he's going to do. Mind you, he didn't look so happy saying that with us in the room."
Aurora frowned. "Perhaps not."
"He knows what he's doing, though. It was impressive, the way he speaks. He's been through it all, Moody has. He's really different to Lupin, but I think you'll like him. He even mentioned starting a Duelling Club back up again, which'll be good seeing as there's no Quidditch."
She threw Cassius a teasing look. "And you aren't going to occupy your time with the Triwizard Tournament?"
"Well, I'm aiming for it." He grinned at her, and Aurora couldn't help her small smile.
"Good. I want a Slytherin champion, none of this Gryffindor nonsense."
At that, Cassius' grin only widened. "So you'll be cheering me on then?"
"I'd cheer on any Slytherin champion," she said daintily, smirking at him as she leaned closer and then made to stand, "but I suppose I would cheer extra loudly if it turns out to be you."
-*
Their first lesson with Professor Moody fell last thing on Thursday. Aurora wasn't particularly nervous about it, unlike most of her friends, who had been subjected to his critical, suspicious eye multiple times in the last few days.
As such, Draco and Pansy immediately went to sit in the back of the classroom, with Greg and Vincent protectively in front of them. Aurora, eager to learn from this man whom Dora had so often spoken of, took a seat nearer to the front though still on the Slytherin side, and Gwen sat next to her, with Robin and Leah MacMillan behind them.
Moody wasn't there yet, at least not that they could see. But someone as paranoid as Dora said he was wouldn't leave his classroom door unlocked while he was absent, so she was sure he had to be somewhere. Even once every student had appeared, there was no sign of their Professor, and Hermione Granger started to get antsy.
"We are in the right room, aren't we?" she asked Potter and Weasley fretfully across the classroom. They both just shrugged.
Neville said, "This feels weird. We can't all be in the wrong place."
Aurora sighed, crossing her legs. "I'm sure Professor Moody is around here somewhere. That door wouldn't be unlocked if he wasn't."
No sooner had she said it than the Professor appeared out of thin air in front of Lavender Brown, who gave a squeal of fright and almost toppled off her chair. Aurora tried to hide her laugh, though Robin didn't.
"Well observed. Black, is it?" Aurora nodded. "Thought so. That cousin of yours told me to keep an eye out." One eye winked — the other swung to stare at Seamus Finnigan, who had been passing a note to Dean Thomas, and dropped it in fright. "You have to be constantly aware of your surroundings. Anything could be lurking near you, unseen. Anything at all." He waved his wand and a large spider was conjured, flying through the air and landing on the desk of Lewis Stebbins, who yelled and scraped his chair back in shock. Moody, grinning, levitated the spider over their heads and gently onto his desk, where it scuttled down the inkwell. "Dark wizards will catch you off your guard. Constant vigilance — that's what you all need to learn, more than anything else. Yes..." He stumped over to stand behind his desk, bright blue eye whirring around in its socket and landing on each student in turn. No one spoke.
"Register," Moody muttered, "good place to start, isn't it? Black!"
Aurora almost jumped, but said sharply, "Here, sir."
"Brown!"
Lavender Brown said in a more composed voice than her earlier squeal, "Here, Professor!"
His magic eye roamed when his real one wouldn't. It looked suspiciously at Draco and Pansy, assessingly at Potter, curiously at Frida Selwyn in her Gryffindor tie. When it looked to her, Aurora felt like he saw right through her, to her every nerve and curiosity. It was disarming.
"Right," he said, when he tore his gaze away from Blaise, "I've got one year with you all before I go back into my quiet retirement, and I've a lot of work to do. Not one of you has pointed out that this spider has disappeared off my desk." Weasley went pale. "That spider won't hurt you — if it's a real spider, but you don't know that — but people aren't so innocent.
"Now, your previous professors have been clearly lacking. Quirrel, well, I've heard all about Quirrel." His lip curled in disgust. "That Gilderoy Lockhart, slightly better morals, but also an obvious idiot." Aurora smirked. "Lupin, your last, he at least seemed to know what he was doing with Dark creatures."
"He was the best teacher we ever had," piped up Dean Thomas.
"Like I said," Moody growled, "you've a year to go with me. You've learnt about creatures, but creatures can be used just like curses can. If you want to fight them, you need to understand them. If you want to fight Dark Arts, you need to understand the Dark Arts, why they're appealing and why they're effective. And if you want to fight Dark Wizards, you need to know how they think. How they operate.
"First and foremost, you need to know what they do. Now, the Ministry aren't really fans of teaching about Unforgivable curses, but Dumbledore agrees you need to know."
Behind her, Leah MacMillan sucked in a deep breath. Green light flashed across Aurora's memory — but he wouldn't teach them that, he wouldn't show them that, surely? "There's no point going into a battle blind."
"But, professor," said Parvati Patil nervously, "we won't be going into — into battle? The war's over."
"War's never over," Moody growled. "War is constant. The Dark Arts rise and fall and Dark wizards never really disappear. You need to be vigilant at all times. You lot are the future of this godforsaken country and you need to be prepared! You need to be ready! You need to not whisper behind your hand, Miss Midgeon!"
Eloise Midgeon, a mousy-haired Gryffindor, stared at him in shock. Her cheeks blazed red.
"Who can tell me what the three Unforgivable curses are?"
No one spoke. Aurora could hardly breathe. She knew the names of them. She had seen them in books in Grimmauld Place, and in Black Manor, though Arcturus told her never to use them unless she had to. Dark magic always took more than it gave — but these curses took from the caster just as they did their victim, at the mind and at the soul, and if one was caught using them they'd never get out of Azkaban prison. As a rule, the Black family never gave more than they took. And they also could not afford to give any more of their children to the Dementors.
When no one gave him an answer, Moody's eye whirred around the room and landed first on Malfoy, then on Ron Weasley.
"Arthur Weasley's son, are you?" Weasley nodded. "Got an answer?"
"There's the — the Imperius Curse," Weasley said. "It makes you control whoever you cast it on. I think," he tacked on hastily, doubting himself, but Moody was nodding.
"Decent definition, Weasley. The Imperius Curse takes away the free will and free thought of whomever it's cast on. It's stronger if the caster has less regard for their victim's autonomy — if they don't think they should have free thought. If they think they're naturally superior. Some people are more susceptible to it than others, some are naturally rebellious against intrusions on their minds. It gave the Ministry a lot of trouble back in the day, did the Imperius Curse. After Voldemort — and I won't coddle you by refusing to say his name," he added when most of the class gasped "—disappeared, an awful lot of ex-Death Eaters claimed they only did what they did because they were under the Imperius Curse. Allow me to demonstrate. Accio!"
A couple of students flinched at the word, even though it was only a summoning spell. Pre-emptive terror. The spider went flying from its hiding place into Moody's hand, where he enlarged it and said, quietly, "Imperio!"
The spider, which previously had been trying to wriggle away, went still. Moody concentrated on it with one eye, and it started to scuttle around before leaping unexpectedly onto his desk, where it promptly ran the length and hung on the edge. Aurora stared. "Any suggestions as to what I should make it do? Nothing cruel, mind."
The class was silent before Lewis Stebbins suggested, "Make it run into that spilled ink?"
Moody chuckled and then, after a second's pause, the spider did exactly that. Its movements slowed in the ink, which coated its legs and cling to everything it could. Moody held out his hand for it to clamber into, despite the ink now trailing onto his skin, and said, quite calmly, "Finite."
The spider tensed. Moody looked around the classroom, shuddering slightly.
"Much easier to perform on an animal than a human — but in some ways, more difficult. That's the only one I'll be showing you lot though. Anyone got a suggestion for curse number two?" His gaze went from Neville to Theodore to Selwyn to Aurora.
She didn't want to be the one to say it. Her skin crawled at the memory. At her father telling her how her own grandmother had used it on him when he was barely older than she was now. It was Neville who said, quite unexpectedly, "The Cruciatus curse."
She felt slightly sick. He shouldn't have been the one to say it, in that voice. He shouldn't have known. But Moody gave him an assessing look. "Longbottom, is it?"
Neville nodded, but he didn't shy away from Moody's gaze, which Aurora found surprising. "Yes."
"Take five points to Gryffindor. Longbottom's right, of course. The Cruciatus curse is used for torture, plain and simple. In war, it can be used to sort out liars in a bunch. Like the Imperius, it'll earn you a one-way ticket to Azkaban if you use it on another human being. The Cruciatus causes pain, sometimes to the point of madness." Aurora tried not to look at Neville. "At the end of the war, a group of Death Eaters trying to track down their old master used it on a couple of Aurors. I won't tell you who, or what happened to them, but safe to say those Death Eaters deserve an eternity in Azkaban. And there are plenty more who fell through the cracks.
"The Cruciatus curse requires hatred, not mere superiority, as the Imperius does. The caster must truly believe that the pain they are inflicting is for a good purpose, that their victim deserves it. Either that, or they're too full of hatred to think otherwise. Like I said — Dark magic affects the mind. Use enough of it, and you won't see a reason to stop yourself. The strongest Cruciatus requires total dehumanisation of a target. Not to just believe that they deserve pain, for a reason, but to believe that there is no reason for them not to. Animal minds are less complex, but animal cruelty is also generally frowned upon and you all look awfully bothered. This spider hasn't done anything to hurt anyone — except some flies, I suppose, but that's life. A lot of victims of the Cruciatus Curse also didn't do anything to deserve it. A lot of them were great people. A lot of them said they'd rather die than go through that pain.
"Which brings me to the final curse." His eyes landed, unsurprisingly, on Potter. "Any ideas?"
"The Killing Curse," Potter said. Aurora knew she imagined it, but his eyes seem to be more green. A reflection of the curse light she knew to have deflected from him.
"Precisely. Like the other two, the Killing Curse takes from the caster and the victim. It takes the victim's life, and from the caster... Has anyone here seen someone die?"
The question was so abrupt that Aurora didn't know how anyone could be expected to reply. "Doesn't have to be a violent death," he added, because Potter looked slightly ill.
Slowly, she nodded, not saying anything. One eye whirred to her while the rest of the class looked uncomfortable, glancing at each other. "Not pleasant, is it? No matter the circumstances. Death takes and takes and takes. Now, to murder someone, that takes great focus. Some have used the Killing Curse on compassionate grounds — euthanasia. In this sense, it isn't quite as Unforgivable, but still outlawed in Britain. It requires the full belief that death is the best option, and that is a very difficult thing to reconcile. And when Dark wizards use it — by that, I mean wizards who want to cause pain by the fallout of the curse — it takes the total dehumanisation of the target. It requires one to think their victim isn't worthy of living and never has been. That the world is a better place without them."
Aurora could think of a lot of people whom the world would be better off without, though she of course did not voice this. Even if Moody would probably agree with most of the list. She remembered Dora had said he had always tried to bring Death Eaters in alive, if he could, and taught her to do the same.
"Some people have used the Killing Curse unsparingly and been wracked by guilt they didn't think they were capable of feeling. Some are haunted by those they have killed. The ones you want to watch out for are the ones who don't. The ones who don't think human life is sacred at all. Those who would kill and kill to satisfy themselves.
"You might think I'm being dramatic, that I shouldn't be telling you this in this way. But consider this — a Death Eater wouldn't sit down and explain the curses they're going to use. They certainly wouldn't warn you off them.
"And now you know a bit about how the curses function, and how their casters do. And can anyone tell me what all these curses have in common?"
The spider was still wriggling in his hand. Aurora couldn't look anywhere else. She didn't want to look anywhere else. The Death Eaters who had killed her mother didn't think life was sacred — or at least, not the life of a muggleborn. They hadn't thought Aurora's life sacred either. She was expendable, necessarily so. She didn't dare to look at her cousin, scared she would see Lucius Malfoy looking back at her.
Draco didn't think Aurora was expendable. But he had thought Granger expendable in second year.
"All those curses," Frida Selwyn said, looking anxious, "they all need a caster to think that the victim deserves it."
"Elaborate. That's an obvious answer."
"Please sir," Granger said, though there was a definite tremor in her voice, "all of those curses require a caster who — who disregards humanity. Of themselves and of their victim. It's unforgivable, hence the name."
"More. It's unforgivable isn't enough of an answer."
"They have to think it's right." It was Neville who spoke. Gwen, who had never heard Neville say more than a sentence in the space of an hour, looked incredulous. "That they're entitled to do it. They have to — have to be so cruel that they think they're justified. Because they don't care. That's what makes it Unforgivable. Because they — if they really cast it right, if they're capable of doing it to — to the worst possible way, to really make it hurt, then they won't think they need to be forgiven. And they won't be."
He was paler than Aurora had ever seen him. But it occurred to her that saying all that was also one of the bravest things she'd seen him do.
Moody was nodding, pleased. "A brilliant analysis, Longbottom. Another five points to your house."
He was definitely being generous — but then again, hadn't the Longbottoms been Aurors, likely colleagues of his?
"The Unforgivable curses aren't to be messed about with. No Dark magic is. It's important you learn about it. Like Neville said, they're the worst of magic because of their cruelty. The impact on the caster is a psychological one. It makes them worse, it feeds their hatred.
"Lotta Dark enchantments can cause their bearers to be cursed in turn. Mild affliction compared to what they do to their victims, but over time, it wears at a person. Some Dark wizards, reformed, say it can be like an addiction. The rush of power. Many go too far, beyond the brink of natural magic. They lose their minds, their compassion, their empathy. Some would say their humanity.
"But that's not what we're covering today. Next lesson, I will be casting the Imperius curse on you, and seeing how well you can shake me off. I've the necessary permissions, and if anyone is really against it, Dumbledore says you don't have to do it and can write an essay or something, but I'm telling you now, you'd rather your first experience of an Unforgivable be in my classroom than on a battlefield, or in the middle of a war when you find yourself an unwilling spy. You can read some books ahead of the class if you want, but I doubt it'll help any of you."
Granger looked like Christmas had been cancelled. Aurora couldn't deny her own trepidation at the idea of having the Imperius curse put on her. But Moody was right. She'd rather learn this way than any other.
He let the class out not long after that, though it was a little early. Most students were too shaken to notice.
Gwen gripped Aurora's hand tightly under the desk. "They used that Killing Curse on muggles, didn't they? In the war. Because they thought they deserved it."
"Yes," Aurora said, Because there was no point in skating around what Moody had already given away. "And Muggleborns. And squibs. And blood traitors, and anyone who opposed them."
Gwen shivered, looking sick, but they both got to their feet and started packing their bags up. Aurora was quick about it, and caught up to Neville Longbottom on the stairs outside.
"Neville," she said quietly, though none of their classmates had yet to leave or come by, "Are you alright?"
"No," he said bluntly, then turned around fiercely. "But I'm going to be." She blinked. "Moody said Dark wizards are always going to be about. I know you know what happened to my parents." Aurora nodded carefully and he slumped. "I don't want it to happen to anyone again. I don't want people to have to grow up knowing about that. Because I can't forgive it."
And he turned away from her to storm down the stairs. Aurora gaped after him, as the rest of the class spilled out. Moody clapped a hand on her shoulder, frowning.
"Longbottom gone already?"
"Yes. I think he was... Affected."
"Yeah." Moody looked thoughtful. "He had to hear it though. Had to get the point."
"Oh, I think he did."
"If you run into him—" Aurora doubted that would happen "—tell him to come by my office for a chat."
Moody caught her eye and grimaced. "And say hello to that bloody Tonks for me, too, if you write to her. Tell her she's still got to work on her stealth."
Aurora smiled faintly despite the rattle of nerves in her chest. "I will. See you later, Professor."
Author's Note: One of my least favourite parts of the entire Harry Potter movie series is when Moody asks the class why the Unforgivable curses are called that, and Hermione simply replies 'because they are Unforgivable'. By one of my least favourite I mean it makes me want to bang my head off a table every time I hear those words.
Anyway. Things are... Different, here. This is just my take on the Unforgivable curses and a bit of what sets them apart from the rest of the Dark Arts, theory wise (arguably, many Dark curses would require the caster to believe completely in their necessity at the expense of the humanity of themself and their victim). Feel free to debate in the comments — the Dark Arts are so loosely defined in canon and I find it really interesting to see other people's interpretations of their meaning.