"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody." It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.
"Moody?" Harry muttered to Ron. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?"
"Must be," said Ron in a low, awed voice.
"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. "What happened to his face?"
"Dunno," Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination.
Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and Harry saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.
Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody. His smile quickly withdrew and his eyes had a solemn tint to it." We have the honor to host a historic and famous event over the coming months, an event that has not been held in a century.", His smile returned, albeit a bit strained." It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."
"You're JOKING!", said Fred Weasley loudly.
The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, all except Dumbledore.
"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar . . ."
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.
"Er — but maybe this is not the time . . . no . . .," said Dumbledore. He cleared his throat and continued: "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament . . . well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."
"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in five magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities — until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."
"Death toll? Five Tasks!?" Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly to one another, and Harry himself was far more interested in hearing about the tournament than in thinking about deaths that had happened hundreds of years ago and the number of tasks.
"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt."
"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."
"I'm going for it!" Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, Harry could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.
"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age — that is to say, seventeen years or older — will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This" — Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious — "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will be quite difficult and dangerous, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light blue eyes were solemn as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.
"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"
Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.
"They can't do that!" said George Weasley, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, and was standing and glaring at Dumbledore and Harry opened his mouth to remind him of the danger when-
"Yeah," said Ron, a faraway look on his face. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons . . .", And Harry frowned.
"Come on," said Hermione, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament and Harry and Hermione sharing looks and eye rolls.
"And who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are that you plan to trick?" said Harry, irritated by their total ignorance of the danger
"Dunno," said Fred, "but it's them we will fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George. . . ."
"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," said Ron, and Hermione's eyes lit up, a silent thanks on her lips.
"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" said Fred shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."
"People have died, though!" said Hermione in a worried voice and Harry nodded as they walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.
"Yeah," said Fred airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get 'round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?" Harry snapped his head to Ron, his eyes wide in warning.
"What d'you reckon?" Ron asked Harry. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older. . .. Dunno if we've learned enough. . ..", Harry opened his mouth for a protest.
"I definitely haven't," came Neville's gloomy voice from behind Fred and George.
"I expect my gran'd want me to try, though. She's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor. I'll just have to — oh thanks Harry. . ..", Said Neville, warmly smiling at Harry.
Neville's foot would have sunk in through a step halfway up the staircase. There were many of these trick stairs at Hogwarts; it was second nature to most of the older students to jump this particular step, but Neville's memory was notoriously poor so Harry pulled his arm and him away from the step in time.
"Shut it, you," said Ron, waving away his thanks. They made their way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.
"Password?" she said as they approached.
"Balderdash," said George, "a prefect downstairs told me."
The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which they all climbed. A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look, and Harry distinctly heard her mutter "Slave labor," before bidding them good night with a hug for Harry and a glare for the others and disappearing through the doorway to the girls' dormitory.
Harry, Ron, and Neville climbed up the last, spiral staircase until they reached their own dormitory, which was situated at the top of the tower. Five four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Dean and Seamus were already getting into bed; Seamus had pinned his Ireland rosette to his headboard, and Dean had tacked up a poster of Viktor Krum over his bedside table. His old poster of the West Ham football team was pinned right next to it.
"Mental," Ron sighed, shaking his head at the completely stationary soccer players.
Harry, Ron, and Neville got into their pajamas and into bed. Someone — a house-elf, no doubt — had placed warming pans between the sheets. It was extremely comfortable, lying there in bed and listening to the storm raging outside.
"I might go in for it, you know," Ron said sleepily through the darkness, "if Fred and George find out how to . . . the tournament . . . you never know, do you?"
"Ron... Don't- Leave it. "
Harry rolled over in bed, a series of dazzling new pictures forming in his mind's eye. . .. He had hoodwinked the impartial judge into believing he was seventeen . . . he had become Hogwarts champion . . . he was standing on the grounds, his arms raised in triumph in front of the whole school, all of whom were… screaming? . . . There it was… His dead body, lined with cuts and bruises . . .. Cho's face stood out particularly clearly in the blurred crowd, her face glowing with tears. . .. Harry shivered and brought his blanket closer, exceptionally glad that Ron couldn't see what he could.
_
The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter gray swirled overhead as Ron, and Hermione examined theirs and Harry's new course schedules at breakfast while Harry drew. A few seats along, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were discussing magical methods of aging themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament.
"Today's not bad . . . outside all morning," said Ron, who was running his finger down the Monday column of the schedule. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures . . . damn it, we're still with the Slytherins. . .."
"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groaned, gripping his pencil tightly. Divination was his least favorite subject, apart from Potions. Professor Trelawney kept predicting Harry's death, which he found extremely annoying.
"You should have given it up like me, shouldn't you?" said Hermione, putting a heinous amount of beans on her toast. Ron shook Harry's shoulder and he looked up, raising an eyebrow, silently prompting why Ron interrupted his drawing.
"You're eating again, I notice," said Ron, watching Hermione adding liberal amounts of beans to her toast too.
"I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," said Hermione haughtily.
"Yeah . . . and you were hungry," said Ron, grinning.
There was a sudden rustling noise above them, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail. Instinctively, Harry looked up, but there was no sign of white among the mass of brown and gray. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. A large tawny owl soared down to Neville Longbottom and deposited a parcel into his lap — Neville almost always forgot to pack something. On the other side of the Hall Draco Malfoy's eagle owl had landed on his shoulder, carrying what looked like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home. Trying to ignore the sinking feeling of longing in his stomach, Harry returned to his porridge. Was it possible that Sirius hadn't even got his letter?
His preoccupation lasted all the way across the sodden vegetable patch until they arrived in greenhouse three, but here he was distracted by Professor Sprout showing the class the ugliest plants Harry had ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick, black, giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid. Harry groaned. 'This is gonna be a long class' he thought.
-
Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the contents more closely.
"Mornin'!" Hagrid said, grinning at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Be'er wait fer the Slytherins, they won' want ter miss this — BlastEnded Skrewts!"
"Come again?" said Ron.
Hagrid pointed down into the crates.
"Eurgh!" squealed Lavender Brown, jumping backward.
"Eurgh" just about summed up the Blast-Ended Skrewts in Harry's opinion. They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads.
"On'y jus' hatched," said Hagrid proudly, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"
"And why would we want to raise them?" said a cold voice. The Slytherins had arrived. The speaker was Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle were chuckling appreciatively at his words. Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared a look.
"I mean, what do they do?" asked Malfoy. "What is the point of them?"
Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds' pause, then he said roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today — I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake — just try 'em out with a bit of each."
"First pus and now this," muttered Seamus.
Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made Harry, Ron, and Hermione pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Harry couldn't suppress the suspicion that the whole thing was entirely pointless, because the skrewts didn't seem to have mouths.
"Ouch!" yelled Dean Thomas after about ten minutes. "It got me!"
Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious.
"It's end exploded!" said Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand. Harry peeked at the burn and Dean noticed and glared at Harry to which Harry replied by making a crying gesture and a snicker.
"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," said Hagrid, nodding.
-
They sat down at the Gryffindor table and helped themselves to lamb chops and potatoes. Hermione began to eat so fast that Harry and Ron stared at her.
"Er — is this the new stand on elf rights?" said Ron. "You're going to make yourself puke instead?", Harry snorted at the assumption
"No," said Hermione, with as much dignity as she could muster with her mouth bulging with sprouts. "I just want to get to the library."
"What?" said Ron in disbelief. "Hermione — it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!" while Harry said: "If you want, I can come?"
Hermione shrugged and continued to shovel down her food as though she had not eaten for days. Then she leapt to her feet, said, "See you at dinner!" and departed at high speed.
-
When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Harry and Ron set off for North Tower where, at the top of a tightly spiraling staircase, a silver stepladder led to a circular trapdoor in the ceiling, and the room where Professor Trelawney lived.
The familiar sweet perfume spreading from the fire met their nostrils as they emerged at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains were all closed; the circular room was bathed in a dim reddish light cast by the many lamps, which were all draped with scarves and shawls. Harry and Ron walked through the mass of occupied chintz chairs and poufs that cluttered the room, and sat down at the same small circular table.
"Good day," said the misty voice of Professor Trelawney right behind Harry, making him jump.
Professor Trelawney was peering down at Harry with the tragic expression she always wore whenever she saw him. The usual large number of beads, chains, and bangles glittered upon her person in the firelight.
"You are preoccupied, my dear," she said mournfully to Harry. "My inner eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas . . . most difficult . . . I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass . . . and perhaps sooner than you think. . . ."
Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, who looked stonily back, eyes dancing in mirth. Professor Trelawney swept past them and seated herself in a large winged armchair before the fire, facing the class. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who deeply admired Professor Trelawney, were sitting on poufs very close to her.
-
Half an hour later, each of them had been given a complicated circular chart, and was attempting to fill in the position of the planets at their moment of birth. It was dull work, requiring much consultation of timetables and calculation of angles.
"I've got two Neptunes here," said Harry after a while, frowning down at his piece of parchment, "that can't be right, can it? I checked multiple times."
"Aaaaah," said Ron, imitating Professor Trelawney's mystical whisper, "when two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Harry . . ." And Harry smacked his head.
Seamus and Dean, who were working nearby, sniggered loudly, though not loudly enough to mask the excited squeals from Lavender Brown — "Oh Professor, look! I think I've got an unaspected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?"
"It is Uranus, my dear," said Professor Trelawney, peering down at the chart.
"Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?" said Ron. Harry gaped at him and dissolved into fits of giggles disguised at coughs by looking at the Professors and Lavender's face. this, perhaps, that made her give them so much homework at the end of the class.
"Miserable old bat," said Ron bitterly as they joined the crowds descending the staircases back to the Great Hall and dinner. "That'll take all weekend, that will. . . ."
"Lots of homework?" said Hermione brightly, catching up with them. "Professor Vector didn't give us any at all!"
"Well, bully for Professor Vector," said Ron moodily.
They reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. They had just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice rang out behind them.
"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something. Ron made an exaggerated gagging gesture and Harry snorted before Ron said:
"What?"
"Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!" said Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed entrance hall could hear. "Listen to this!"
-
"And there's a picture, Weasley!" said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house — if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"
Ron was shaking with fury while Hermione tried to calm him down and Harry glared at Malfoy. Everyone was staring at them.
"Get fucked, Malfoy," said Harry, much to Professor McGonagall's chagrin. "C'mon, Ron. . . ."
"Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" sneered Malfoy. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?"
"You know your mother, Malfoy?" said Harry — both he and Hermione had grabbed the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy and Harry had a vicious smile on his face — "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?"
Malfoy's pale face went slightly pink.
"Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."
"Keep your filthy mouth shut, then," said Harry, turning away. BANG!
Several people screamed when the spell hit Harry's cheek, causing a massive gash to cut into his face, he cried out in pain and clutched the side of his face. It burned, it burned, make it stop, MAKE IT STOP-
BANG!
"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"
Harry spun around, causing him to stumble as his hands were stained deep red. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing.
There was a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry —at least, his normal eye was looking at Harry; the other one was pointing into the back of his head.
"Did he get you?" Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly
"Y-Yeah", Harry replied, wincing as his pain increased and his knees were dangerously close to bucking.
"LEAVE IT!" Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody's rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head.
Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons.
"I don't think so!" roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again — it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor as Harry winced, and then bounced upward once more.
"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned," growled Moody as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do. . . ."
"What are you doing?!" Harry exclaimed, trying to walk forward but ended up falling and kneeling on the floor as tears formed in his eyes due to the pain. Hermione shrieked and held Harrys shoulders.
The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly. "Never — do — that — again —" said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upward again. Harry sobbed in pain as his tears hit his wound and it started burning more and more and more-
"Professor Moody!" said a shocked voice
"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher. The floor was starting to move, and Harry started seeing dark spots in his vision.
"What — what are you doing?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air, not noticing Harry who was silently crying in pain with a huge gash on his cheek.
"Teaching," said Moody.
"Teach — Moody, is that a student?" shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.
"Yep," said Moody.
"No!" cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.
"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" said Professor McGonagall weakly. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"
"He might've mentioned it, yeah," said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I thought a good sharp shock —" "We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!" "Um Professor! Harry- "Ron started weakly but only got so far.
"I'll do that, then," said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike.
Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words "my father" were distinguishable.
Harry looked at his hands and they were covered in sticky, red blood. He gagged and covered his gash again, closing his eyes and willing someone to help him.
"Oh yeah?" said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy. . .. You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son . . . you tell him that from me. . .. Now, your Head of House will be Snape, will it?"
"Yes," said Malfoy resentfully.
"Another old friend," growled Moody. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape. . .. Come on, you. . . ."
"PROFESSOR HARRY IS BLEEDING OUT!" That stopped everything short.
"Oh my!" Professor McGonagall cried before running over to Harry. Professor Moody looked at Harry with suspicious panic and Malfoy looked at Harry with glee.
"Oh... I'll kill you...", Ron muttered, glowering at Malfoy.
Professor McGonagall started healing Harry's wound and restoring the blood loss by giving him a Blood Replenishing Potion and Professor Moody escorted Malfoy out of the hall.
-
"Don't talk to me," Ron said quietly to Harry and Hermione as they sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by talk on all sides about what had just happened.
"Why not?" said Hermione in surprise.
"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret . . ."
Harry and Hermione both laughed, and Hermione began doling beef casserole onto each of their plates.
"He could have really hurt Malfoy, though," she said. "It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it —"
"Hermione!" said Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again, "you're ruining the best moment of my life!"
Hermione made an impatient noise and began to eat at top speed again.
"Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" said Harry, watching her.
"Got to," said Hermione thickly. "Loads to do."
"Can't I come with? Also, you told us Professor Vector —"
"It's not schoolwork," she said. Within five minutes, she had cleared her plate and departed. No sooner had she gone than her seat was taken by Fred Weasley.
"Moody!" he said. "How cool is he?"
"Beyond cool," said George, sitting down opposite Fred.
"Supercool," said the twins' best friend, Lee Jordan, sliding into the seat beside George. "We had him this afternoon," he told Harry and Ron.
"What was it like?" said Harry in curiosity.
Fred, George, and Lee exchanged looks full of meaning.
"Never had a lesson like it," said Fred. "He knows, man," said Lee.
"Knows what?" said Ron, leaning forward.
"Knows what it's like to be out there doing it," said George impressively.
"Like doing the spells or doing a mastery?" Harry inquired. "Fighting the Dark Arts," said Fred. "'Mazing," said Lee.
Ron dived into his bag for his schedule.
"We haven't got him till Thursday!" he said in a disappointed voice and Harry frowned.
_
The Gryffindor fourth years were looking forward to Moody's first lesson so much that they arrived early on Thursday lunchtime and queued up outside his classroom before the bell had even rung. The only person missing was Hermione, who turned up just in time for the lesson." Been in the- "
"Library." Harry finished her sentence for her and wrapping his arms around her shoulder. "C'mon, quick, or we won't get decent seats."
They hurried into three chairs right in front of the teacher's desk, took out their copies of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-protection, and waited, unusually quiet. Soon they heard Moody's distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. They could just see his clawed, wooden foot protruding from underneath his robes.
"You can put those away," he growled, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, "those books. You won't need them." They returned the books to their bags, Ron looking excited.
Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.
"Right then," he said, when the last person had declared themselves present, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures — you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?" There was a general murmur of assent.
"But you're behind — very behind — on dealing with curses," said Moody. "So, I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark —"
"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurted out.
Moody's magical eye spun around to stare at Ron; Ron looked extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiled — the first time Harry had seen him do so. The effect was to make his heavily scarred face look more twisted and contorted than ever, but it was nevertheless good to know that he ever did anything as friendly as smile. Ron looked deeply relieved.
"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" Moody said. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago. . . . Yeah, I'm staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore. . . . One year, and then back to my quiet retirement."
He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his gnarled hands together.
"So — straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to…" Harry, Hermione, and (Surprisingly) Ron dutifully listened to the lecture and ignored the jab to Lavander.
Lavender jumped and blushed. She had been showing Parvati her completed horoscope under the desk. Apparently, Moody's magical eye could see through solid wood, as well as out of the back of his head.
"So . . . do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"
Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron's, Hermione's, and Harry's. Moody pointed at Ron, though his magical eye was still fixed on Lavender.
"Er," said Ron tentatively, "my dad told me about one. . .. Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"
"Ah, yes," said Moody appreciatively. "Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."
Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. Harry felt Ron recoil slightly next to him — Ron hated spiders.
Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, "Imperio!"
The spider leapt from Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backward and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a back flip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance. Everyone was laughing — everyone except Moody.
"Think it's funny, do you?" he growled. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?" The laughter died away almost instantly.
"Total control," said Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats . . ."
Ron gave an involuntary shudder.
"Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," said Moody, and Harry knew he was talking about the days in which Voldemort had been all-powerful. "Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will.
"The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, and everyone jumped.
Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar. "Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"
Hermione's hand flew into the air again with some other students and so, to Harry's slight surprise, did Neville's. The only class in which Neville usually volunteered information was Herbology, which was easily his best subject. Neville looked surprised at his own daring.
"Yes?" said Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville.
"There's one — the Cruciatus Curse," said Neville in a small but distinct voice.
Moody was looking very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes.
"Your name's Longbottom?" he said, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again.
Neville nodded nervously, but Moody made no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it remained motionless, apparently too scared to move.
"The Cruciatus Curse," said Moody. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he said, pointing his wand at the spider. "Engorgio!"
The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula. Abandoning all pretense, Ron pushed his chair backward, as far away from Moody's desk as possible.
Moody raised his wand again, pointed it at the spider, and muttered, "Crucio!"
At once, the spider's legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but Harry was sure that if it could have given voice, it would have been screaming. Screaming like all the others that were tortured. Images of people twisting and jerking and screaming in pain entered Harry's mind, feeling horrifyingly real. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently — Just like the Alice did, just like Frank did, just like-
"Stop it!" Hermione said shrilly.
Harry looked around at her. She was looking, not at the spider, but at Neville, and Harry, following her gaze, saw that Neville's hands were clenched upon the desk in front of him, his knuckles white, his eyes wide and horrified.
Moody raised his wand. The spider's legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch.
"Reducio," Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar.
"Pain," said Moody softly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse. . . . That one was very popular once too."
"Right . . . anyone know any others?"
Harry looked around. From the looks on everyone's faces, he guessed they were all wondering what was going to happen to the last spider. Hermione's hand shook slightly as, for the third time, she raised it into the air.
"Yes?" said Moody, looking at her.
"Avada Kedavra," Hermione whispered.
Several people looked uneasily around at her, including Ron.
"Ah," said Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. "Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra . . . the Killing Curse."
He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he trapped it, and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.
Moody raised his wand, and Harry felt a sudden thrill of foreboding.
"Avada Kedavra!" Moody roared.
'Lily! Lily take Harry and go! Ill hold him off!'
'No! No not Harry! Take me instead!'
'Step aside you foolish girl!'
'No! Take me instead'
'Avada Kedavr-'
"Not nice," he said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me."
Harry felt his face redden and a tear roll down his cheek and he hastily wiped it as Moody's eyes (both of them) looked into his own. He could feel everyone else looking around at him too. Harry stared at the blank blackboard as though fascinated by it, but not really seeing it at all. . . .
So that was how his parents had died . . . exactly like that spider. Had they been unblemished and unmarked too? Had they simply seen the flash of green light and heard the rush of speeding death, before life was wiped from their bodies?
Moody was speaking again, from a great distance, it seemed to Harry. With a massive effort, he pulled himself back to the present and listened to what Moody was saying.
"Avada Kedavra's a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it — you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it. "Now, if there's no countercurse, why am I showing you? Because you've got to know. You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roared, and the whole class jumped again and Harry felt nauseous.
"Now . . . those three curses — Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus — are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills . . . copy this down. . . ."
They spent the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No one spoke until the bell rang — but when Moody had dismissed them and they had left the classroom, a torrent of talk burst forth. Most people were discussing the curses in awed voices — "Did you see it twitch?" "— and when he killed it — just like that!"
Harry felt his stomach churning, imagining his parents being killed by that same curse, unblemished and unmarked, on the floor, Dead, Dead, DEAD-
"Hurry up," she said tensely to Harry and Ron.
"Not the ruddy library again?" said Ron.
"No," said Hermione curtly, pointing up a side passage. "Neville."
Neville was standing alone, halfway up the passage, staring at the stone wall opposite him with the same horrified, wide-eyed look he had worn when Moody had demonstrated the Cruciatus Curse.
"Neville?" Hermione said gently. Neville looked around.
"Oh hello," he said, his voice much higher than usual. "Interesting lesson, wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner, I'm — I'm starving, aren't you?"
"Neville, are you all right?" said Harry, voice shaky which was not gone unnoticed by Hermione.
"Oh yes, I'm fine," Neville gabbled in the same unnaturally high voice. "Very interesting dinner — I mean lesson — what's for eating?"
"Neville, what — ?"
But an odd clunking noise sounded behind them, and they turned to see Professor Moody limping toward them. All four of them fell silent, watching him apprehensively, but when he spoke, it was in a much lower and gentler growl than they had yet heard.
"It's all right, sonny," he said to Neville. "Why don't you come up to my office? Come on . . . we can have a cup of tea. . . ."
Neville looked even more frightened at the prospect of tea with Moody. He neither moved nor spoke. Moody turned his magical eye upon Harry.
"You all right, are you, Potter?"
"Peachy" Harry said. Cursing how it sounded shaky.
Moody's blue eye quivered slightly in its socket as it surveyed Harry. Then he said, "You've got to know. It seems harsh, maybe, but you've got to know. No point pretending . . . well . . . come on, Longbottom, I've got some books that might interest you."
Neville looked pleadingly at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but they didn't say anything except for Harry mouthing 'Good luck', so Neville had no choice but to allow himself to be steered away, one of Moody's gnarled hands on his shoulder.
"What was that about?" said Ron, watching Neville and Moody turn the corner.
"I don't know," said Hermione, looking pensive
"Some lesson, though, eh?" said Ron to Harry as they set off for the Great Hall. "Fred and George were right, weren't they? He really knows his stuff, Moody, doesn't he? When he did Avada Kedavra, the way that spider just died, just snuffed it right —"
But Ron fell suddenly silent as Harry's eyes filled with tears and didn't speak again until they reached the Great Hall, when he said he supposed they had better make a start on Professor Trelawney's predictions tonight, since they would take hours.
-
"What's in the box?" Harry asked, pointing at a box. Harry just finished his homework and Hermione returned from the library with a box.
"Funny you should ask," said Hermione, with a nasty look at Ron. She took off the lid and showed them the contents.
Inside were about fifty badges, all of different colors, but all bearing the same letters: S.P.E.W.
"S.P.E.W?" said Harry, picking up a badge and looking at it. "What's this about?"
"Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."
"Never heard of it," said Ron.
"Well, of course you haven't," said Hermione briskly, "I've only just started it." And Harry's eyes lit up.
"Yeah?" said Ron in mild surprise. "How many members have you got?"
"Well — if you two join — three," said Hermione. Harry opened up the pin to put it on.
"And you think we want to walk around wearing badges saying 'spew,' do you?" said Ron and Harry frowned.
"S-P-E-W!" said Hermione hotly. "I was going to put Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status — but it wouldn't fit. So that's the heading of our manifesto."
She brandished the sheaf of parchment at them.
"I've been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now."
"Hermione — open your ears," said Ron loudly. "They. Like. It. They like being enslaved!"
"Our short-term aims," said Hermione, speaking even more loudly than Ron, and acting as though she hadn't heard a word, "are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they're shockingly underrepresented."
"And how do we do all this?" Harry asked, smiling because the badge he got is his favorite color.
"We start by recruiting members," said Hermione happily. "I thought two Sickles to join — that buys a badge — and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You're treasurer, Ron — I've got you a collecting tin upstairs — and Harry, you're secretary, so you might want to write down everything I'm saying now, as a record of our first meeting." And Harry grabbed his bag for his parchment to write the meeting down.
"Should I pay the sickles? Can I design the leaflets? Can I go to the library with you next time? Oh! I have an idea- "Harry said happily before Ron interrupted.
"Hedwig!" he shouted, and he launched himself out of his chair and across the room to pull open the window.
Hedwig flew inside, soared across the room, and landed on the table on top of Harry's predictions.
"About time!" said Harry, hurrying after her.
"She's got an answer!" said Ron excitedly, pointing at the grubby piece of parchment tied to Hedwig's leg. Harry hastily untied it and sat down to read, whereupon Hedwig fluttered onto his knee, hooting softly.
"What does it say?" Hermione asked breathlessly. The letter was very short, and looked as though it had been scrawled in a great hurry. Harry read it aloud:
Harry —
I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore — they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is. I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Harry.
Sirius
Harry looked up at Ron and Hermione, who stared back at him. "He's flying north?" Hermione whispered. "He's coming back?" "Dumbledore's reading what signs?" said Ron, looking perplexed. "Harry — what's up?"
For Harry had just hit himself in the forehead with his fist, jolting Hedwig out of his lap.
"I shouldn't've told him!" Harry said furiously.
"What are you on about?" said Ron in surprise.
"It's made him think he's got to come back!" said Harry, now slamming his fist on the table so that Hedwig landed on the back of Ron's chair, hooting indignantly. "Coming back, because he thinks I'm in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with me! And I haven't got anything for you," Harry snapped at Hedwig, who was clicking her beak expectantly, "you'll have to go up to the Owlery if you want food."
Hedwig gave him an extremely offended look and took off for the open window, cuffing him around the head with her outstretched wing as she went.
"Harry," Hermione began, in a pacifying sort of voice. "I'm going to bed," said Harry shortly before pecking her cheek and saying goodnight to Ron. "See you in the morning."
Upstairs in the dormitory he pulled on his pajamas and got into his four-poster, but he didn't feel remotely tired.
If Sirius came back and got caught, it would be his, Harry's, fault. Why hadn't he kept his mouth shut? A few seconds' pain and he'd had to blab. . . . If he'd just had the sense to keep it to himself. . . .
He heard Ron come up into the dormitory a short while later, but did not speak to him. For a long time, Harry lay staring up at the dark canopy of his bed. The dormitory was completely silent, and, had he been less preoccupied, Harry would have realized that the absence of Neville's usual snores meant that he was not the only one lying awake.
Authors Notes:
Heya! This is my first ever fanfic! Please do criticize my work! This is a GoF rewrite where I make Harry a bit more human and the tournament a little more dangerous! Love you all! Bye! 3