Authors note: Ideally there would be something between this and the previous, but again. Editor likely needed. Make it a sport in finding flaws/holes in the story.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom buzzed with low chatter as Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped into their usual seats. Tension hung in the air, more palpable now with the first task of the Triwizard Tournament looming just days away. Harry could feel the weight of the upcoming challenge pressing down on him, though he was doing his best to ignore it. Everyone seemed to be talking about what kind of terrifying creatures or deadly traps the champions might face, and Harry, despite all the attention and praise, wasn't entirely sure he was ready.
The door creaked open, and the room fell silent as Moody limped inside. His wooden leg struck the stone floor with a rhythmic clunk, his magical eye swiveling wildly around the classroom, scanning the students with unnerving precision. His normal eye fixed on Harry for a moment before moving on, the corner of his scarred mouth pulling into a slight grimace.
"Right," Moody growled as he reached the front of the room, thumping his staff on the floor for emphasis. "Today, we're continuing with curses. I've shown you the Unforgivable Curses, but those are far from the only dangerous magic you'll encounter out there. Especially with what's coming."
Harry swallowed. The reminder of the first task made his stomach twist.
"Now," Moody continued, his voice harsh and gravelly, "there's a curse you ought to know about. The Entrail-Expelling Curse." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "One of the darkest bits of magic you'll find outside the Unforgivable lot. Picture a Summoning Charm—only instead of summoning objects, it pulls your insides right out of you. Used by dark wizards during the old wars. Lethal and painful."
There was a ripple of uneasy murmurs across the room. Harry caught a glimpse of Seamus Finnigan turning pale in the corner of his eye.
"Why're we learning about this?" Seamus muttered, though it was clear Moody heard him.
Moody's magical eye swiveled to focus on Seamus, his normal one narrowing dangerously. "Why?" he repeated, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "Because you need to be prepared. When you're out there—whether it's fighting Death Eaters or, say, facing a dragon in a tournament—you won't get a warning about the kinds of curses coming your way. And trust me, Finnigan, you don't want to be caught off guard."
Harry tensed at the mention of dragons. Moody's eye flickered back to him for a moment, as if he knew exactly what was running through Harry's mind. The Tournament. The first task. Could it really be dragons?
Moody continued his lecture, detailing the intricacies of the Entrail-Expelling Curse, how to recognize it, and what to do if you ever found yourself facing it. But Harry found it hard to focus. His thoughts kept drifting back to the looming task, to the uncertainty of what he would have to face. The idea of standing in front of a dragon—or any deadly creature—made his stomach churn.
As the class wore on, the murmurs about the upcoming task grew louder, students exchanging nervous glances. Moody, ever watchful, seemed to ignore it, though Harry could sense the tension building in the room. Finally, the bell rang, and the students began packing up their things.
"Potter," Moody's gruff voice called out, just as Harry was about to leave with Ron and Hermione. "Stay behind for a moment."
Harry exchanged a quick, puzzled glance with his friends. Ron gave him a half-shrug, and Hermione looked slightly concerned. They hesitated by the door, but Harry waved them off. "I'll catch up with you in a bit," he muttered.
When the last student left, Moody limped over to his desk, his magical eye still whizzing around as though checking for any eavesdroppers. He gestured for Harry to approach.
"You're handling yourself well, Potter," Moody said, his voice low, almost approving. "Better than I expected, given the circumstances."
"Thanks," Harry muttered, unsure where this was going. He still wasn't used to receiving praise, especially not for something like this. "But, er... why'd you want to talk to me?"
Moody's scarred face twisted into what might have been a smile, though it looked more like a grimace. "I'm offering you a bit of extra help," he said, his tone conspiratorial. "Extra credit, you could say."
Harry blinked, surprised. "Extra credit?"
Moody nodded, leaning in slightly. "I've seen how you handle yourself. Resourceful, quick on your feet. But the first task—it's no joke. You'll need every advantage you can get."
Harry's mind raced. Extra credit? If it meant learning something that could help him survive the first task, he wasn't about to say no. "What kind of extra credit?"
Moody's magical eye swiveled again, checking the room one last time before he spoke. "A few private lessons. Extra defense work. Something a bit more... hands-on than what we've been doing in class. But you'll need to keep this between us. Favoritism, see?" He gave a low chuckle. "Can't have anyone thinking I'm giving you special treatment."
Harry hesitated for a second, the idea of secret lessons stirring a mix of excitement and unease. But if it helped him prepare for the first task, if it gave him even a slight edge, it was worth it. "Alright," Harry agreed. "When do we start?"
"Meet me in the dungeons," Moody instructed, his voice low and steady. "After curfew tonight. We'll keep it quiet."
Harry's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation filling him. "Got it. I won't tell anyone."
Moody gave a satisfied nod. "Good lad. And Potter—be prepared. You'll need it."
With that, Moody dismissed him, turning back to his desk as if nothing had happened.
Harry hurried out of the classroom, his mind buzzing with the idea of what these extra lessons could mean. If Moody was offering him this kind of help, it had to be important. As he made his way through the corridors, heading toward the dungeons after curfew, Harry felt the weight of the tournament pressing down on him more than ever.
The first task was coming. And now, with Moody's extra help, he might just have a chance.
Later that evening, under the invisibility cloak Harry walked along the dungeon corridors, the note had said the second door on the left, then third on the right, and end of the hallway, through the door. It must have been a 10-minute walk from the great hall by the time he arrived. His hands trembled slightly with nerve, to be taught by the greatest auror alive was a great honor. Harry only hoped he wouldn't disappoint him.
Walking through the last door according to the instructions, a very thick iron door, he saw a narrow corridor, with a low stone ceiling and a dirty flagged stone floor.
The door pulled shut behind him, the handle wrenching from his grip by its own
Harry arrived in the cramped corridor a minute early. Trembling slightly, unsure of what was to come. Moody were stood in the middle of the corridor, giving a very menacing impression as the torches cast long shadows in his deeply scarred facial features.
"Potter.", he growled, "We begin immediately. Fight me."
Harry opened his mouth surprised. The mood was very intense, he felt his heartrate quicken even further. He tentatively drew his wand, hesitation very apparent in his movements.
Moody gave an impatient growl and whipped the air with his wand. Harry flew backwards into the heavy door and fell to the ground, the air in his lungs knocked out of him.
"Do you think me some schoolgirl waiting for you to ask her to prom? We fight!"
Moddy whipped his wand savagely in the air. A bang echoed in the low-ceilinged corridor, and then;
Darkness enveloped his senses completely. He opened his eyes wide, as if that would somehow let a small amount of light into them, but the darkness was so thick it felt like he was submersed in tar.
A faint panting echoed quietly against the stone walls. He could sense before his inner eye excitement building in the shallow breathing pattern, a silhouette of Moody slowly materialized before his eyes. The door had locked all light out when it shut, and Harrys eyes were widened to try and force any light in. He studied the silhouette that was projected before his minds eye, weary of making any sound, he decided to trust himself. His voice rang in the corridor,
"EXPELLIARMUS"
The room that had been dead quiet, now illuminated by a flash of red and a loud bang. The scarred teacher shone in the brief light, exactly as Harry had pictured him, though little help it was, for the victory was short lived.
Another flash indicated that the spell had been easily deflected by the far more experienced and skilled auror. Harry tried to stay moving now, the duel had begun. Still completely blind he sidestepped quickly, idly remembering the overheard conversation Moody had after one of his defense against the dark arts classes, his magical eye doesn't need light to see. The sound of Moody's breathing reached a crescendo, Harry could tell his excitement was building with every moment. And then, without warning,
"Crucio!"
A quick flash, that lit up the expression of twisted joy over the scarred features of his defense against the dark arts teachers face, and a narrow dungeon corridor. The mirror image of the flash burned on his retinas as pain shot through him like nothing he had ever felt before. It was an electrifying sensation that enveloped him fully. He screamed for as long as he could, but after a while his body simply surrendered to the pain. The pain was so total, it blocked out all thoughts, he couldn't move, he couldn't scream. And as sudden as it struck him, it was over. He lay still on the cold stone floor, unsure if he was alive, struggling to draw shallow breaths.
"Get up. This is a fight, and you are not dead, Potter. Get up!"
Harry did not stir.
"Get up Potter, or are you trying to imitate dear mother? Crucio!"
The taunt stirred Harry to action. He moved before the curse was pronounced, and it hit where Harry had laid a moment earlier. In the brief flash of light Harry tried to memorize the position of Moody, and the walls. But he only ran a few steps before another spell hit him square in the chest. It knocked the wind out of him, and he collapsed against the wall.
"You think this is how you survive against a death eater, Potter? You think this is how your father fought the dark lord? CRUCIO!"
A flash of Moody standing above him. Harry took the spell with resignation, hunched over against the dungeon wall. The pain cleared his mind again of all thought, his world was nothing but pain. He did not know for how long it lasted, but when it ended, he faintly noticed he was still upright, albeit on a knee. Harry flailed his arm out for where Moody had held his wand earlier, hoping to knock it out of his hand, but his arm met only air.
"Pathetic. Crucio!"
Harry collapsed to the floor.
This repeated over and over again. Harry had no recollection of time. All he knew was that he at some point found himself in a lit corridor, and his teacher gone. He was lying in a puddle, at some point during the torture spells he must have soiled himself. He had no recollection of this.
Slowly, with trembling hands he got himself on his feet, and pulled out his wand to clean himself off.
The road back to Gryffindor Tower had exhausted what little energy Harry had left. He tried to return the greetings offered by his fellow Gryffindors as he entered the common room, but even that small effort drained him. Every smile he forced felt heavier than the last, and by the time he cut through the chattering crowd, he barely had the strength to reach his bed. Harry was somewhat grateful that Ron and Hermione were too swept up in what was likely Ron's homework to notice him. He had neither the energy nor the will to explain why he looked—and felt—as utterly exhausted as he did.
But despite his weariness, sleep offered no respite. Every time he closed his eyes, flashes of cruel, violent laughter jolted him awake, again and again, like a shadow lurking in the corners of his mind. Each time, the sensation of something dark looming over him became stronger, and his heart raced with the residual fear of the unknown. By morning, Harry felt utterly destroyed.
Pulling himself out of bed took all the willpower he could muster. His body ached, and his eyes stung with the exhaustion of restless sleep. As he stumbled toward his trunk, Ron glanced over, his brow furrowed with concern.
"What happened to you, mate?" Ron asked, eyeing Harry with a mixture of worry and disbelief.
"Didn't get much sleep," Harry muttered, trying to shake the fogginess from his head.
Ron raised an eyebrow. "What about the bruises?"
Harry blinked, looking down at his arms and chest. His skin was mottled with dark purple and blue bruises, as though he'd been in a rough Quidditch match—but there hadn't been one. He vaguely remembered falling out of bed in the middle of the night, jolted awake by another nightmare, but he hadn't realized just how badly he'd battered himself.
"Oh... must've been Quidditch or something," Harry said, rubbing his arm and wincing at the soreness. "I don't know."
"You didn't have Quidditch last night, mate," Ron pointed out, his worried expression deepening.
"Yeah, I meant... practice for the tournament," Harry corrected quickly, hoping Ron wouldn't push further.
Ron's frown remained, but he nodded, albeit unconvinced. "Alright... sure you're alright, though?"
"Yeah," Harry lied, avoiding Ron's gaze. "I'll be fine."
The rest of the morning passed in a blur, with Harry trying—and failing—to focus in his classes. His mind was clouded with the echoes of sleepless nights and the strange, recurring nightmares that haunted him. He found himself replaying the visions over and over, trying to make sense of the disjointed images that had shaken him so deeply. The violent laughter, the pitch dark dungeon...
Over the next few days, Harry found rest elusive. The bruises faded slowly, but his energy seemed to be sapped. A sense of unease around Moody just wouldn't subside, and Harry found himself wondering if he should ask for another one, of if he wasn't about that life. For now he decided he wasn't up for more.
Whenever Ron or Hermione pressed him about his extra credit lesson, and his bruises, Harry deflected, offering vague explanations about the stress of the Triwizard Tournament. Hermione was suspicious, but even she seemed to let it slide, knowing how much was on Harry's plate with the first task approaching.