The Gryffindor lions had been eagerly anticipating Moody's class for quite some time.
Students who had already attended Defense Against the Dark Arts praised his lessons highly, saying they were almost as good as Lupin's—some even claimed they were better.
The room's curtains were drawn shut.
For a moment, the students thought they'd accidentally wandered into Professor Trelawney's tower, as the room was filled with an overwhelming and choking scent of incense.
Harry, whose senses were sharper than most, found the strong smell nearly unbearable. He struggled to breathe, and his eyes watered.
"Professor, could we open a window?" Hermione stopped in her tracks and asked Moody, who was seated at the teacher's desk.
Moody shook his head. "I'm afraid not."
"You'll need this calming incense for what we're about to cover today."
Harry fanned the air in front of his face with his hand. "This incense is poorly made, Professor. You might want to consult Professor Snape about its preparation. And burning so much at once only worsens its effectiveness."
"I think I know more about these things than you, Potter," Moody growled, stomping his claw-like wooden leg against the platform with a loud thud. "Sit down. We're starting."
Hermione frowned as she and Ron followed Harry to the front row and sat down.
As soon as they took out their textbooks, Moody waved a hand dismissively.
"Put the books away," he ordered. "When you're face-to-face with dark creatures or dark wizards, books won't save you. If your first thought is to flip through a textbook, you're already as good as dead."
The students eagerly stashed their books, thrilled at the prospect of a practical lesson.
Theory was all well and good, but nothing beat hands-on experience.
Moody hobbled out from behind the podium and stopped by the desk farthest from Harry.
"You had a good professor last year," he said. "I've received detailed letters from Professor Lupin about your progress in this subject."
"But Defense Against the Dark Arts isn't just about dealing with dark creatures."
"Most witches and wizards will rarely encounter such creatures in their lifetimes—not even me, despite what you might think. The real threat is dark wizards, and those who aspire to become them."
"In my class, I'll teach you how to handle the dark arts themselves."
The students held their breath.
Hermione frowned. "Professor, isn't that something we're supposed to learn in sixth year—?"
Moody cut her off with a wave. "Patience, Miss Granger. I've reviewed the syllabus; I'm not a fool. But Professor Dumbledore has spoken highly of your courage."
"I believe he thinks you're ready to learn about these things."
He paused and glanced meaningfully at Harry.
"Besides, I'm sure many of you heard the news about the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup. They summoned the Dark Mark and tortured Muggles. It was a despicable act."
"Fortunately, Harry here drove them off before the Aurors arrived and even managed to capture two of the culprits."
The students turned to Harry in amazement.
Harry, however, kept his gaze fixed on Moody.
"Times are tense," Moody continued, his tone sharp. "You never know when the Death Eaters might rise again. I've lived through two such periods already!"
He tapped his wooden leg against the floor irritably, then barked at Lavender Brown, who was fiddling with something. "Miss Brown! What I'm teaching is important. No distractions!"
Lavender jumped, quickly stashing whatever she'd been holding.
Moody's magical eye swept over the class as his regular eye fixed on them.
"A dark wizard won't politely bow or announce their spell before attacking you," he warned. "They won't stick to harmless spells like Stupefy or Petrificus Totalus."
"So, who can tell me the most vile spells in our world—those that are punished most severely?"
Harry spoke up. "You're talking about the Unforgivable Curses, aren't you, Professor?"
"Exactly," Moody said, nodding. "Care to enlighten the class?"
Harry didn't mince words. "I don't think this is appropriate. Does Professor Dumbledore know?"
"This is my class," Moody replied, stomping his wooden leg again for emphasis. "I decide what's appropriate."
Harry fell silent, but the protective charm he wore against his chest vibrated slightly.
Moody's magical eye swiveled to him. "So, anyone else want to answer?"
A few hands shot up.
"You, Weasley."
Ron stood up hesitantly. "Er—there's the Imperius Curse. My dad told me about it. And Malfoy tried to use it as an excuse recently."
"Correct," Moody said approvingly. "Ah, the trouble that curse has caused the Ministry over the years."
He flicked his wand, and a glass jar flew from the cupboard to his hand. Inside was a large spider. He unscrewed the lid, letting the spider crawl onto the desk.
Ron nearly drew his wand to blast it.
Moody pointed his wand at the spider and said, "Imperio."
A faint, cold magical energy seeped into the spider, binding it to Moody's will. It began dancing in an unnaturally graceful manner, leaping across the room and performing elaborate steps.
The students laughed and applauded.
"You think that's funny?" Moody's voice was sharp as a knife.
He waved his wand again. The spider suddenly started hurling itself against the wall, smashing its head repeatedly until it collapsed, lifeless.
The class fell silent, faces pale.
Harry flicked his wand, and the spider's body vanished.
"Feeling compassionate, are we, Potter?" Moody asked, his magical eye boring into him.
"The students have seen enough," Harry replied coolly.
Moody snorted. "As you saw, the victim of the Imperius Curse becomes a puppet, completely under the caster's control. And no trace of the curse remains—there's no evidence to prove someone was under it."
"However," he continued, "while the Imperius Curse has no counter-curse, it can be resisted with a strong enough will. I'll teach you how."
He turned to Neville. "Mr. Longbottom, perhaps you can name another Unforgivable Curse?"
Neville rose shakily, barely able to force the words out: "Cruciatus Curse."
Moody said nothing, summoning another spider instead.
He enlarged it to the size of a human head and cast the Cruciatus Curse.
The spider writhed and clawed at the desk, emitting sickening sounds. Harry flicked his wand again, silencing the noise.
Neville's face turned deathly white as sweat poured down his forehead.
Harry leaned over. "Neville, if you're uncomfortable, just say so."
"I don't like it," Neville whispered hoarsely.
"Louder," Harry urged.
"I DON'T LIKE IT!" Neville shouted, his voice steady despite his trembling.
Moody looked taken aback, his magical eye swiveling toward Harry with a strange expression.
"Anyone know the last Unforgivable Curse?" he asked.
Hermione raised her hand. "Avada Kedavra," she said grimly when called upon.
"Indeed," Moody confirmed, his face twisting into what might have been a smile. "The Killing Curse."
He aimed his wand at the spider, but Harry intervened again, transfiguring the table into a barrier between Neville and the scene.
With a single green flash, the spider collapsed, lifeless.
"Potter," Moody said sharply. "You're being overly cautious."
"Perhaps," Harry replied, his tone flat. "But you'll admit, Professor, that at your age, accidents can happen."
Moody grunted. "The Killing Curse leaves no survivors—except for one boy who sits among you now."
All eyes turned to Harry.
Moody continued, "These spells require immense power and strong emotions. Most of you couldn't cast them, even if you tried."
"But," he added, "you must know how to defend yourselves. Let's start with resisting the Imperius Curse. Potter, you'll go first."
The charm on Harry's chest vibrated violently.
He stood, his gaze locked with Moody's. "I don't think that's permissible, Professor. The Ministry forbids the use of Unforgivable Curses, even in classrooms. Demonstrating them was already pushing the limit."
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Powerstones?
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