“Wesley! Hey, Wesley!”
Draco Malfoy shouted loudly in the Entrance Hall. Anne and Fanny, heading toward the Great Hall for dinner, exchanged glances and slowed down to see what was happening.
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle stood together, beaming with smug delight. Across from them stood Ron, Harry, and Hermione, flanked by other students waiting to enter the Hall.
“What?” Ron asked irritably.
“Your father’s in the Daily Prophet, Weasley!” Malfoy cried, flapping a newspaper so everyone could hear. He held it up triumphantly and read aloud:
“More Ministry Chaos”
A special report by Rita Skeeter… criticism of the Ministry’s handling of the Quidditch World Cup… missing female official… yesterday, the Departnt for the Regulation of Muggle Artefacts was embroiled again when Arthur Weasley allegedly intervened in an altercation with Muggle law enforcent concerning…
Malfoy sneered. “Even your dad’s na’s wrong! He’s just a nobody, right?”
He flashed a photo of Ron’s parents outside the Burrow. “And your mum, she’s so fat the photo looks distorted!”
Ron trembled with rage. The onlookers watched him.
“Back off, Malfoy.” Harry hissed. “Ron, don’t…”
“Oh, Potter! You stayed with them this sumr, didn’t you?” Malfoy jabbed. “Is your mum really that fat, or did the paper doctor the photo?”
“Maybe your mum,” Harry fired back, grabbing Ron to stop him from lunging. “Look at the look on her face, always like soone stuck a toad under her nose. Is she always like that, or just around you?”
Malfoy flushed. “How dare you insult my mother, Potter.”
“Then shut your fat mouth.” Harry spat and turned away.
SMACK!
A curse flew past Harry’s cheek.
SMASH!
A purple jet of magic rebounded, followed by a thunderous roar:
“Oh, don’t be like that, boy!”
Professor Moody limped down the stone staircase, pointed his wand at a terrified white ermine trembling where Malfoy had stood.
Moody's voice rumbled. “He hurt you?”
“No,” Harry said, “it missed.”
“Stay away from it!” Moody shouted.
“From what?” Harry asked, confused.
“Not you, him!” Moody snarled, thumb pointing at Crabbe, who had flinched as he tried to scoop up the ermine.
Moody circled the terrified creature, his magically enhanced eye scanning every reaction.
With a muttered spell, the ermine shot ten feet into the air with a crack, but Moody caught it seamlessly.
“I hate cowardly attacks from behind,” he growled. “Filthy and disgusting.”
Moody’s spells tossed the ermine between floors like a greasy rag until McGonagall arrived, aghast. Malfoy returned to normal, flattened and trembling, his snow-blond hair plastered to a scarlet face.
“MOODY! We don’t use transfiguration as punishnt!” McGonagall declared, picking up her scattered books.
Moody shrugged. “I needed to scare him.”
“He could’ve gone to detention or complained to his parents!” she protested.
“I will report it to his Head of House,” McGonagall promised. Moody rely glared at Malfoy.
Malfoy’s eyes filled with tears, though his hatred remained fixed on Moody’s wooden leg.
Moody barked, “I knew your father, boy. Tell him I’m watching his son closely. Head of your House, isn’t it, Snape?”
“Yes,” Malfoy muttered bitterly.
“Another old acquaintance,” Moody rumbled. He grabbed Malfoy and led him toward the dungeons.
McGonagall followed, levitating her books back into her arms.
Dinner began only after the students spilled into the Great Hall. Pansy Parkinson burst into tears.
“What will happen to Draco? Turning him into a ferret…” He sobbed in her arms.
Anne set down her fork. “He'll be fine. Snape would vouch for him, Moody took him to see him already.”
Fanny looked astonished.
“I’m not defending Malfoy,” Anne clarified. “I just… want a quiet dinner. And Draco’s okay, trust .”
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Thursday afternoon, 10 minutes before class:
Anne and Fanny entered Moody’s Defense class to find nearly every Gryffindor already seated.
“Looks like they all love the new professor,” Anne observed.
Fanny opened her Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection and nodded. Hermione didn’t arrive until ten seconds before the bell.
They wondered where she’d been. Anne guessed the library again.
Soon enough, Moody’s deliberate, gruff footsteps announced his arrival. He entered and barked: “Put your textbooks away. You don’t need them.”
He inspected attendance with his magical eye and then said: “For the next year, I’ll teach you how to confront Dark creatures with spells.”
When Ron asked for clarification, Moody fixed him with that eerie eye and, after a terrifying instant, smiled.
“You’re Arthur Weasley’s son, aren’t you?” he rumbled. “Your father recently helped out of a tricky spot. Yes, one year only. Help Dumbledore… then I’m leaving you be.”
Bracing himself on his wooden leg, Moody began the lesson.
“You’ve learned so basics, boggarts, nifflers, grindylows, werewolves. But not enough on spells. So we start here: the Unforgivable Curses.”
He summoned three live black spiders in jars. He enlarged each one and cast:
Cruciatus Curse: the spider writhed in agony.Imperius Curse: he ntioned its seduction, its strength.Avada Kedavra: deadly green light flashed, a spider died instantly.
“One Survivor escaped,” he hissed, staring at Harry. Harry sat frozen, eyes fixed on Moody.
Moody let them choose to attempt the Avada, “Start with . You might only give a nosebleed.”
“But I show you, so you know what’s worst. You must be ready and vigilant.”
He paused, then instructed: “Write down these curses. They are Unforgivable. Use even one, and it's life in Azkaban. These, these are what you're defending against. Stay alert.”
For the rest of class they scribbled quickly. As soon as the bell rang, students flooded out, buzzing with shock.
“Can you believe it?” Fanny whispered to Anne.
Anne toyed with a silver Sickle. “Yes, he not only showed them… but he’s teaching them next.”
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