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SD: CH155 - Moody
🕑 Added 2025-03-08 05:58:33 +0000 UTCIt was finally time for the much anticipated Defence Against the Dark Arts class.
As I walked to the fourth-year classroom, with Hermione and Neville in tow, I saw five hit-wizards standing at the doorway. My first instinct had been to freeze on my tracks at the sight, before I told myself that if they were here for me, I’d probably have either gotten a warning from Amelia, or worse, the hit-wizards would have directly come for me, and not waited patiently where everyone could see them.
Then I saw that every fourth-year from all four Houses was converging to the Defence classroom.
“What’s going on?”
“Haven’t you heard?” asked Hermione. “Professor Moody wanted an all-House class.”
I pointed at the hit-wizards.
“Dunno,” said Neville. “Maybe something’s happened. There’s like twenty of them here.”
“Of course,” Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes. “Something always keeps happening at this stupid school.”
“Language, Hermione,” I chided.
Hermione kicked me in the shins.
And all was good again.
Alastor Moody was stalking in front of the defence class, as one of the hit-wizards verified the name and date-of-birth of every single student as they walked into the classroom. Turns out the man had gotten a special dispensation to conduct a special class that required all fourth-year students to be present. Once it was over and done with, he would be proceeding with the same for the senior years.
And I had a very good idea what it was going to be about.
Neville went first, and the hit-wizard poured a single drop of colourless liquid on his palm. Thief’s Downfall, I recognized from my earlier stint at Bones Mansion, and suddenly, I recognized exactly what was going on. I had already been informed of this, albeit indirectly, but I had failed to truly grasp what Amelia might have intended.
The hit-wizards paused for a moment as they registered Hermione, but let her pass. And finally, it was my turn.
“Same protocol as last time?” I asked, recognizing the hit-wizard from back at the mansion gate. “No letter or appointment this time, I’m afraid.”
The hit-wizard ignored my cheek and let me pass. I made note of how Moody’s eyes zoomed at me as I went through the same inspection, and repeated my name and date-of-birth, before the hit-wizards let me in. That done, I stepped into the fourth-year classroom.
Which had magically transformed into the size of the Great Hall.
I mean, yeah, nothing shocking about it when you consider wizard spaces, but as I had learned from Professor Babbling, wizard spaces were a terrible idea when you were casting spells or performing any kind of heavy magic inside. It was why the classrooms were naturally built large to encompass as much area as physically possible without inhibiting the study and casting of spells.
But as anybody with a muggle upbringing should be able to tell you, Hogwarts doesn’t exactly follow the rules of geometry, euclidean or otherwise. It had connections, not directions. The entire edifice stood as a mix of a stone, unparalleled engineering ingenuity, and a perpetual state of self-transfiguration from the power it constantly drew from the ley lines it was constructed upon.
There was simply no other reason to explain why the fourth-year Defence classroom, squeezed into the first-floor of the North Tower, was suddenly the size of the Great Hall, and at the same time, connected by a door with Moody’s private office on the seventh floor.
Once the students got settled in, Moody stomped to the front of the room.
“Afternoon,” he began gruffly. “I am Alastor Moody, late of the Auror Department. From what I’ve come to know, you had Quirinus Quirrell for your first-year, who I am told was a stuttering moron that barely managed to speak, and then vanished under unknown conditions.”
His electric-blue eye zoomed in my direction.
“Second year, Gilderoy Lockhart, who apart from being a pompous arse and a fraud, was found obliviated and had to be sent to St. Mungo’s. He’s a permanent member there. And last year, you had Remus Lupin, a werewolf, who was sacked by the Board of Governors after he attacked three Gryffindors and infected one of them.”
Several students glanced and whispered furiously at Hermione’s direction.
“Quite naturally, you lot mst be quite apprehensive, wondering what to expect from the trigger-happy, honourably-discharged war-veteran Alastor Moody that’s just as infamous for his paranoia as is for killing or imprisoning the relatives of over a quarter of the students here. Seventeen, I think. Anyway, welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts for the fourth-year curriculum.”
Damn. I didn’t know what I was expecting but as far as preambles went, I thought it was a good one.
“Before we start, let me tell you what this class isn’t about. It’s not about exterminating silly pests that any idiot with a wand and a few charms in his head can take care of. It’s also not about reading about XXXX creatures without an ounce of practical experience in facing one. It’s definitely not about dress robes that you don’t care about when facing monsters. This class is going to be about one and one thing only — defending against the Dark Arts, which I’m certain none of you have the slightest experience at.”
He paused, and then spoke, in a voice devoid of any warmth, cold as the single eye staring at me. “Except perhaps, one.”
I didn’t need to look around to know that every single eye in the class was also looking in my direction.
“Mr. Potter, when did you recognize that Professor Quirrell was possessed?”
I blinked. Out of all the possible things he could have asked, that was the least expected.
“When he attacked me.”
Moody arched an eyebrow.
“He attacked me in the forest, when I was out for detention. With uh, Hagrid. But a centaur saved me. And then… I got manipulated into going to the Third Floor corridor where he attacked me because… because the spirit possessing him commanded him to do so.”
I didn’t like the speculative look the mad auror was giving me, and wondered if he was going to drop the class midway to launch an investigation on the nature of Quirrell’s possession. All it would take was a single question on how I’d survive, and the Daily Prophet would have a field day. Depending on how things turned out, it could result in anything ranging from blaming Dumbledore for endangering students to Fudge’s open denial about Voldemort still being out there to an open demand by the opposing factions to send me to Azkaban for killing a professor.
“And how did you win the feat that our dear Minister can’t stop talking about? Killing a basilisk in your second year?”
This one was easy. “I had help. The Headmaster’s phoenix and the Sorting Hat helped me.”
Moody muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. “And last year, you faced —”
“A hundred dementors, give or take,” I finished for him. “I fought them using the Patronus charm,” I said, only to remember that things didn’t exactly end the same way as it did in the books, “and nearly got killed.”
“You were also attacked by a mass-murdering Azkaban fugitive and survived by a fully-transformed werewolf.”
I glanced at Hermione who looked distinctly uncomfortable. “With help, yes.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” murmured Moody and turned to the class.
“Let that be a lesson to all of you,” he said, his voice turned hard, harsh and unforgiving. “No matter how much confidence you hold in your prowess, no matter how certain you are in the safety of your house, your wards, or even your school and your Headmaster’s ability to protect you, you must never allow yourself to lower your guard. Because there does not exist a place where you are truly safe. This world holds no place that can keep you away from harm for you are always, always in danger of being killed. And that’s why, you must always remember and practise CONSTANT VIGILANCE!”
I didn’t know if he had wandlessly applied a sonorous charm at the end, or if his old lungs were just that good, but my eardrums wailed at his loud proclamation at the end.
“Now, as if teaching a group as ignorant as you lot wasn’t enough, Alb — your Headmaster has put you in charge of advising security for the Triwizard tournament. Quite naturally, I’m going to be busy, so all classes have to be held all-house like this. It will give you twice as much classroom time as double sessions —”
The class groaned.
Except for Hermione, who whooped in joy.
“ —and extra duelling events, which is why, you won’t get any homework —”
“WHAT?” Hermione all but yelled.
“Correct lass,” Moody half-growled. “I want to see you last ten seconds in a fight, not write ten inches on fighting. Half the class will be duelling practice, where you will learn to fight, defend and survive against the most dangerous monster you’ll ever face —”
His false eye zoomed all over the room.
“The dark wizard!”
Lavender Brown raised her hand. “Are you going to teach us dark curses, professor?”
“Yes.”
“But — isn’t that illegal?” Hermione asked. I held back the urge to point out the hypocrisy of her statement given what she was a part of.
“It’s illegal to cast them on another person. It’s necessary to study them, their traits, weaknesses and more importantly, their counters. Mind you, if I catch any of you lot even so much as attempting any of the curses we discuss, you’ll learn what it's like to be experiencing that same curse at the end of my wand. Trust me, you won't like it.”
Lavender Brown swallowed. Draco stayed mightily quiet.
“Now, no thanks to this ruddy tournament, the security in this castle is going to go bonkers! You will have students from two schools, their staff, Ministry employees, Aurors, hit-wizards, and the paparazzi all over the school starting next month. For that reason, I’ve arranged for a special class that every student from fourth-year and above will be taking. And yes, it’s mandatory to attend.”
This time Hannah raised his hand.
“Excuse me, Professor, what is it about?”
“Unforgivables,” said Moody grimly. “It’s about Unforgivables.”
But that’s illegal,” exclaimed Lavender Brown.
“Right,”’ answered the gruff auror. “Which is why we have some special guests attending this class, just to witness its illegality.”
He flicked his wand to one side, and a door opened, out of which walked out Albus Dumbledore and Nymphadora Tonks, followed by Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance and Amelia Bones.
“Well…”’ said Hermione. “Shit.”
....
....
Amelia had a bad feeling about this.
Technically, it was one of ‘five’ bad feelings that she was nursing since the night of the party. The first was her apprehension at just ‘leaving’ the Dark Lord like that. The second, third and fourth had been because of the revelations — Harry being a time-traveller and her own death inside her burning manor. Technically, that Harry didn’t share any substantial connection with her in his own timeline was disappointing, but not unexpected. After all, Harry had been caught absolutely off-guard when Amelia had revealed her history with his father. Had he already known all of it and had merely acted ignorant, Amelia would have caught him earlier.
The fourth bad feeling arose from his decision to leave Nymphadora Tonks, and her own theories about the metamorph being Harry’s lover from his time. Harry had, of course, neither confirmed nor denied that, what with everything else that had followed.
The fifth and final bad feeling came out of the fact that Nymphadora Tonks was currently stationed at Hogwarts. She was completely fit and functioning, which should have been enough proof that she had not yet betrayed Harry. And yet, Albus Dumbledore’s sudden request to station her and Digwood at Hogwarts was concerning. While Amelia had many words to describe the old man, stupid and obvious weren’t among them. One could argue that being a metamorph allowed Tonks the freedom to stay in the castle and gather intelligence without others noticing her presence, and Digwood, being a Senior Auror, would be able to make up for Tonks’s lack of experience, but somehow, she doubted that things were that simple.
For one, the oath targeted the protection of Harry Potter’s secrets. It did nothing to protect her own. And neither would it prevent the metamorph from revealing the fact that Amelia knew of her and Kingsley’s association with the Order of the Phoenix. Though, if she did blabber something to Dumbledore without breaking her oath, it was most unlike Dumbledore to be so obvious about it.
No, something else was happening. Someone was playing a very clever game from the shadows. And Amelia wanted to know what it was.
“Ma’am, permission to tell you this is a terrible idea?” said Hestia.
Amelia unclenched her teeth, which took quite an effort. “I know. But refusing isn’t an option.”
“I don’t see why,” countered Hestia. “The unforgivables have never been part of Hogwarts curriculum. So why now?”
“Because of the Tournament,” said Amelia. “Or more specifically, because of Durmstrang. Unlike Hogwarts, the Unforgivables are part of their curriculum. While there will be Ministry personnel for the safety of the students, both the Department of International Magical Cooperation and Albus Dumbledore decided it proper to get the students through a crash course on Unforgivables.”
“What is he expecting?” asked Hestia. “That Durmstrang students will attempt to cast them on ours?”
“It came in as a request from the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Between Barty Crouch’s obsession with legislative trivia, the recent disaster and Dumbledore’s prodding, they came up with a request to screen for potential dangers while also educating the students about the Imperius curse, just in case somebody decides to hamper the tournament or worse. Even the Board of Governors signed their consent to this document.”
“Still,” said Emmeline, butting in. “Allowing someone to cast an Unforgivable on school children? Isn’t it a little… too far?”
“And that,” said Amelia, gritting her teeth, “is why you are here. To verify that none of them have any residual effects of the curse, Head-Obliviator.”
“And also check for potential dangers while she does that,” Hestia concluded.
“Essentially,” said Amelia.
“Right, and what’s the real reason behind this sudden arrangement?”
“What’s going on in that head of yours, Hestia?” asked Emmeline.
‘Oh, I don’t know,” said Hestia airily. “Two Order members stationed at Hogwarts, one of which is a metamorph and is probably wearing anybody’s face as a mask for all we know, and the other is the best Aurors we currently have. And somehow, Mad-Eye Moody, another Order member, arranges for a situation that requires myself, the Head-Obliviator, and yourself, the Director, to be inside Hogwarts in attendance while Harry would be subject to the Imperius? And all of this happening inside a school whose wards are completely controlled by Dumbledore himself?”
Amelia arched her brow. The girl was quite a sharp one. No wonder she was regarded as an asset for Dumbledore’s Order.
“A coup then?” asked Emmeline. “Something this brazen doesn’t fit Dumbledore’s style.”
“Doesn’t it?” Hestia challenged.
Both of them looked at Amelia for confirmation.
“While the Chief Warlock cannot undermine my authority, he has been friends with Alastor for a long, long time now,” said Amelia slowly. “If Alastor can make Harry say something incriminating then, I will be oath-bound to take him into custody, and file a chargesheet against him. Anything that I know from him personally is protected through our confidentiality oaths, but if Alastor discovers anything, I’ll have no choice but to act.”
“Not true,” defended Emmeline. “Harry isn’t a criminal. Nor does he have a warrant on him. And nothing said under the Imperius curse can be counted as evidence in court. For all they know, Moody could have just imperiused Harry to say… whatever he says.”
“‘That’s assuming it goes in that direction,” countered Hestia. “It’s like Harry said. Dumbledore wouldn’t attempt to expose Harry or us like that. It’s too drastic, and too chaotic. The entire political framework will fall apart, and with the tournament going on, it will spell disaster for Britain’s foreign policy. The professor has kept dastardly things secret for a lot, lot less.”
She was referring to the foreknowledge of the attack on the World Cup, Amelia reasoned.
“It doesn’t matter if things don't make it to court,” said Amelia. “The moment Harry confesses, my integrity is compromised. Even if Harry would reveal the slightest bit of scandal about our private activities, it would commence a shitstorm that would utterly destroy everything she had been working for over the past two decades. Just that bit of blackmail is enough for him to make us dance to his whims.”
And just like that, Dumbledore would win. Without casting a single spell, without needing to even wave his wand, he would prove them all guilty and leave them to hang while Fudge’s Ministry and the sheep of the wizarding world would exact their rightful vengeance upon them. All of their actions would be undone.
“In other words, we’ll be royally fucked,” said Hestia, sighing. She paused and looked at Emmeline. “Just out of curiosity, how exactly do you determine if someone is under the lasting effects of an Imperius?”
“Usually through fragmented memories,” said Emmeline. “A pensieve scan normally helps in confirmation, but you’d have to narrow the memories down to the right time when the person might have gotten imperiused.”
“And if they were unconscious?”
Amelia narrowed her eyes at her secretary pressing the question.
“I’m ignoring personality shifts. That’s obvious. But there might be subtle changes in personality that aren’t so easily visible. Increased passiveness, indecisiveness or uncharacteristic ferret certain triggers. He or she might even display an increased degree of obedience or faith towards someone without a reason.”
“By that logic,” Amelia drawled. “All three of us might be held suspect as potential imperiused victims.”
Emmeline shrugged. “We could be.”
Amelia noted the way Hestia flinched at that statement.
“At least, that’s how it would appear to others,” Emmeline went on. “I am the Lady of House Vance, Head-Obliviator, and for those in the know, a senior Order member. Just standing by Harry’s side against Dumbledore is proof enough.”
“You are an accomplished Occlumens,” Amelia pointed out.
“So are you,” Emmeline shot back. “But it only makes it worse. If Harry Potter can influence someone with such a high degree of mental defence, what good are the others against him? Besides, he definitely has a form of compulsive power that’s eerily similar to the Imperius, and quite hard to detect, even with Occlumency.”
Amelia had to argue. As much as she hated to admit it, some part of herself had to accept that the weekend with Harry Potter had been unnatural, however slight it might have been. It might not have been a direct assault like the Imperius, but Harry Potter definitely knew what to say, how to say it and when. He definitely hadn’t known about the business between his father and her, his reaction was too raw for it to be otherwise, but there was definitely something that made Amelia jump that easily into his arms and then on his cock.
There was documented proof that Harry did visit her home and stayed three days there. And Amelia had also taken leave for the duration. Given her sudden change of behaviour, she would be hard-pressed to prove that she wasn’t under the Imperius.
And then there was the entire matter of her resurrection. Necromancy. It was increasingly difficult to say exactly where her own will ended and the magical compulsion from being Harry’s thrall and… being resurrected by him began.
“I’m quite looking forward to the psychic instruction,” Emmeline was saying. “There are all sorts of experiments I want to conduct on his unexplained charm.”
Amelia rolled her eyes at Emmeline’s proclivities towards the weird. He didn’t know if Harry’s influence had just twisted her, or unleashed something recessive within the conformist woman.
Whatever it was, she wasn’t looking forward to finding out.
“Do you….” She began, hesitating for just a moment. “Do you mind if I attend these sessions? Much of what Harry and I share is rather controversial and delicate stuff. I’d like to be in the know about whatever you find out about his powers.”
“I don’t think that would be a problem,” said Emmeline. “In fact, Harry stressed on it.”
Amelia arched an eyebrow. As did Hestia.
“He did?”
“Yes,” said the Obliviator. “Whatever the source of his incubus powers, it is definitely something he didn’t have back then. He’s only got a summer to explore them.”
Amelia grumbled, crossing her arms. “Personally, I think he overreached himself with this entire idea of coming clean. Hestia was his secretary, and I understand bringing the two of us in on his secrets, both Narcissa Ma—Black? Greengrass?” she paused for a moment, reconsidering what she was about to say next.
“Emmeline, Hestia, I have a question. What exactly would you think if I said the words status window?”
Both women widened their eyes instantly.
“I see,” said Amelia softly. “Just as I assumed then. Very —”
The rest of her words remained unfinished, as the door in front of them opened, and Albus Dumbledore stepped in, with Tonks in tow.
“Ladies,”’ said the Headmaster. “It is time for the session to begin. So, shall we?”
Comments
mz304
Could be slightly faster but the detail is what makes this worth it for me
Michael Friede
On the one hand, I agree with the pacing being an issue. On the other hand, I absolutely love the worldbuilding you’ve been doing since day one. The world feels lived in and real, in a way cannon doesn’t. Theres also a lot that’s been accomplished in a single summer. So the plot is moving, just differently. I also really like the Tournament being much more important than in canon. So, yes maybe speed up the pace a little but otherwise you’re doing great!
Hadrian v.E.
Yep. The story should've moved along A LOT faster. ~150 chapters and (what) 0.5M words covering just 2 months of events are not anywhere near reasonable. I remember giving this criticism (on FFN) all the way back during the Anastasia arc. The TWT year actually needs time to develop with so much going on, but I sincerely hope you don't drag things out anymore.
