Chapter Eleven: Cheating Scum, or Friendly Mistake?
Ron and Neville sat in the Great Hall that Wednesday morning. As Ron buttered his toast, Neville glanced up at the staff table.
"Snape seems to be in a foul mood," he said tentatively.
"Yeah," Ron replied, stuffing the bread into his mouth. "And you know why?"
"Moody?" Neville supplied.
Ron nodded in agreement.
"It's been four years now and he still doesn't have the job. First Quirrel, then the incompetent moron that was Lockhart, then a werewolf, and now an ex-auror. He must be furious."
Everyone knew that it was the Defense Against the Dark Arts position that Snape was after. Snape had displayed different degrees of dislike for their previous teachers, but now he showed a new animosity for Moody—almost as if he was wary of him. Snape often avoided the man's eye when they were around each other.
"I reckon Snape's a bit scared of him," Ron said finally. Neville looked sceptical. "What? Everyone's got to be scared of someone. You-Know-Who was scared of Dumbledore. Snape scares you. Now Snape is scared of Moody."
Neville shrugged. "I guess that makes sense."
After breakfast they headed out for their first Defense class. Everyone was so eager to have their first lesson with Moody, that the corridor was filled up before the bell rang. As soon as it did, they all filed into the room. Ron and Neville chose seats toward the front and waited for their new professor to arrive.
Moody then arrived, calling role as he had in his other class. Then, he mentioned that the fourth years had had some learning in tackling dark creatures, before moving on to his speech on the three Unforgivable Curses. Finally, he asked the class who knew of any Unforgivables.
Several students tentatively raised their hands.
"Yes, Weasley?" Moody asked.
"Uh," Ron said quietly. "Well—my dad did mention one—the Imperius Curse, isn't it?"
Moody nodded. He pulled out a jar that contained three spiders once again. Ron's hair stood on end and he pressed back into his seat slightly as Moody imperiused it and made it dart around the classroom. The demonstration was over after a few moments and the spider returned to the jar.
"Anyone else know of any unforgivable curses?" Moody asked.
Neville slowly raised his hand.
"Yes?"
"The—the Cruciatus Curse," he said, clearly, but very quietly.
"You're Longbottom, aren't you?" Moody asked, his magical eye fixing on his role sheet.
Neville nodded, his face fixed on his desk. Moody nodded, clumping over to the desk. Then, he took out another spider and enlarged it. Ron dropped all pretence and moved his desk back several feet.
"Crucio!" Moody barked.
Neville watched, transfixed as the spider writhed with pain. His face held a look of horror and he painfully thought of his parents, lying in the hospital, unable to recover from the pain they had suffered. His hands clenched into fists in front of him and his eyes were wide.
"Stop it!" Parvati Patil exclaimed. She was looking at Neville. "Can't you see it's bothering him?"
Moody stopped casting the spell and continued with the class. Neville only vaguely registered that he had continued talking. He had been snapped out of his daze only for a moment when the spider had died, the Killing Curse cast upon it. Then, as soon as the bell rang, he gathered his things and rushed out of the classroom. He wanted to get out of that classroom and as far away from Professor Moody as he could. He stopped, to look out a window on the staircase. It was then that Ron caught up with him.
"Are you—are you all right?" he panted.
"Oh, yes," Neville replied. His voice was unusually high. "Interesting lesson wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner, I'm—I'm starving, aren't you?"
"Neville are you all right?" Ron repeated.
"Oh, yes, I'm fine," Neville gaggled in the same unnaturally high voice as Ron steered him down the staircase. "Very interested dinner—I mean lesson—what's for eating?"
"Are you sure you're all right? You know what—don't answer, I don't know what's for dinner," Ron said. "Why don't we go back to the common room?"
They returned to Gryffindor tower. Once there, Ron forced Neville to sit down on a couch. Neville rubbed a hand over his face and the absolutely terrified look slowly went away. Then, he said with his voice back to normal, "I—I'm sorry. I guess I should've told you sooner, but…" he trailed off. His voice returned to the unnaturally high tone again as he continued, "My parents were tortured by Death Eaters. They—they were tortured for so long that they—they don't even know who I am any more…"
"I'm sorry, Neville," Ron said sincerely. "It must be horrible."
Neville shrugged. "I still see them when I can. I tell Mum about my day…"
They trailed off into silence.
"Well," Ron said. "I think we should get started on our Divination homework."
Neville nodded soundlessly.
While the Gryffindor fourth years had an interesting Wednesday, the rest of the week passed uneventfully for the Slytherins until that Saturday. Harish had been enjoying his blissful sleep, but was rudely awoken by shouting.
"That filthy, lying, cheating, scum!"
Harish sat up rubbing his eyes to see Fred kicking his trunk.
"Wha's goin' on?" he muttered.
"He—he—"
"Slow down," Harish said, putting out his hands in a stop sign. "Who?"
"Bagman! I looked in my trunk for the money he gave us at the match, but it was gone!"
"What were you wanting money for?" George was now awake, staring at his brother bleary eyed.
"I was wanting to sneak to Hogsmeade today and buy more supplies for trick sweets! But the darn—money—wasn't—there!"
"You know kicking that trunk won't solve your problems," Harish said.
"I know!" Fred exclaimed angrily, giving the trunk one last kick. "Ow!"
He clutched his toe and hobbled over to his bed.
"See?" Harish asked.
"Well what do you suggest we do, Oh Mighty One?"
"Send him a letter. I'm sure it was just a mistake."
"Just a mistake my—" and he said a rather ugly word that would have had Mrs. Weasley washing his mouth out.
That evening they sat in the common room, trying to propose a letter. Every now and then one of them would scratch something out saying something along the lines of, "No—that sounds like we're accusing him…"
Finally they went to bed that night, after completing the letter and sending it off with one of the school owls. The next morning, they all watched hopefully for an owl during the owl post. And, to the three teens' surprise, an owl landed in front of Harish.
"Is it him?" Fred muttered.
"Bagman?" George questioned.
"I haven't even gotten it untied yet!" Harish exclaimed.
He untied the letter and unrolled it.
"No," he said. He scanned the letter's contents quickly.
"What?" the twins asked in disappointment.
"Who's it—"
"From!?"
"Sirius," Harish whispered.
"What does it say?"
"Have a look," Harish replied. He held the letter out slightly and the two Weasleys leaned forward to read it.
It read:
Dear Harry,
I thought that you might like to know that I am returning north. Your father wants someone to keep an eye on you this year. He reckons trouble is brewing. Dumbledore does too, if he has really appointed an ex-auror as your teacher. I can't say much more here, in case this letter is intercepted. I hope you have had a good term so far.
Love,
Sirius
"'Trouble is brewing'?" the twins quoted. "What kind of trouble?"
Harish shrugged.
"I don't know…but if it's worrying my father, I definitely think we should be worried as well."