221: Chapter 221 Moody's Lesson

"Put the spider down."

Hermione stood beside her desk with a tense face, gripping her quill tightly.

At the podium, Alastor Moody looked at her with his normal eye, while his magical eye turned toward the back of the classroom, slowly sweeping across every desk.

"Miss Granger, are you afraid of spiders?"

"I'm afraid of someone using living creatures as demonstration models," Hermione stared at the glass jar, "and even more afraid of someone disguising torture as teaching."

Moody took a step forward with his wooden leg, producing a dull thud on the floor.

He grabbed a plump black spider from the jar, its eight legs scrambling wildly in his palm, causing several Hufflepuff students to shrink back while Seamus had already buried his face into his History of Magic Class textbook.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts doesn't teach you to be afraid," Moody raised the spider high, "it teaches you to recognize what an enemy will use against you."

Harry sat by the window, his gaze falling on the spider before quickly looking away.

Ron lowered his voice: "I'd rather he continued talking about Dementors."

"At least Professor Lupin gives out chocolate," Hermione said with a cold face, "Professor Moody only gives people nightmares."

Allen leaned back in his chair, his eyes half-open.

He had slept poorly last night; the cracked pocket watch had lit up twice inside the ebony box, its blue light getting stuck at the edge of the lid each time before being pushed back by the void.

Yet he wasn't sleepy at this moment.

The person at the podium held his wand with a very steady posture.

Too steady.

Moody raised his wand, the tip pointing at the spider.

"The first one, the Unforgivable Curses. The Imperio."

Before the green light appeared, the spider stiffened slightly.

The next instant, it dropped from Moody's palm onto the podium, its eight legs propping up neatly as it spun around in a strange dance.

Someone in the classroom let out a laugh.

The spider danced faster and faster, climbed onto the chalk box, flipped over a piece of parchment, and finally hung upside down by the window.

With a gentle wave from Moody, the spider stopped immediately, its limbs sprawled out and its abdomen heaving rapidly.

"The Imperio makes a person lose their will," Moody said, "you think you're moving, but actually someone else is making decisions for you."

Allen stared at his right wrist.

The tail-end of the spell casting was reined in far too abruptly.

Ordinary Wizards practicing the Imperio would usually leave a half-beat of magic margin to prevent backlash when the target struggled free.

Moody reined his magic in so cleanly that the spider's consciousness was suppressed to the point where it could hardly find an exit.

This was the habit of an expert.

An expert who had long taken living people as targets.

Draco sat to Allen's left with his habitual look of disdain, yet his hand quietly touched the knut inside his cuff.

Nott lowered his head to open his notebook, his quill halting beneath the three characters for "Imperio".

Zabini leaned back in the back row, lowering his voice to ask: "Isn't he demonstrating a bit too proficiently?"

"Watch until the end first," Allen said.

Moody grabbed the spider again.

"The second one, the Cruciatus Curse."

Neville's hand raised from beneath the desk, pressing onto his own knee.

He didn't look at the spider, keeping his eyes fixed on the edge of the podium as his complexion drained away little by little.

Hermione noticed his abnormality and reached out to touch his arm.

Neville dodged slightly with a very light movement, yet knocked his quill onto the floor.

Moody did not stop.

The wand came down, and the spider rolled around at the bottom of the glass jar, its thin legs curling into a ball.

It couldn't make a sound, but the students could all understand that appearance.

Seamus dragged his chair back half a foot, Lavender covered her mouth, Dean's hand froze in mid-air, and he didn't even pick up the parchment that had dropped.

"Enough."

Hermione stood up.

Moody tilted his head, his magical eye spinning rapidly before stopping in front of her forehead.

"Miss Granger has objections?"

"I do," Hermione's voice was tight, "classes should teach students how to defend themselves, not let us watch a spider being tortured. Neville's parents were harmed like that by the Cruciatus Curse, and you clearly know it."

The classroom fell silent.

Neville lowered his head, his shoulders taut and straight.

Harry glanced at him, and Ron pushed the textbooks on the desk toward the middle to block the direction of the spider.

The wand in Moody's hand halted.

"I know," he said, "which is why he needs to see it even more."

Hermione stared at him: "And after watching? Will he be able to defend against it?"

"At least he should understand what price failure will cost."

Finished speaking, Moody waved his wand to dismiss the spell.

The spider collapsed limply in the jar, its limbs still twitching.

He put the glass jar back on the podium and struck the floor with his wooden leg, causing the entire classroom to shudder along with it.

Allen tapped his fingers lightly against the edge of the desk.

Quite a few people in Slytherin showed impatient expressions; Flint crossed his arms and muttered, "Longbottom should thank the Professor for giving him remedial lessons."

Pansy turned her head to glare at him, "If you want to try, you can go up there and lie down in place of the spider."

Flint's face darkened, and just as he wanted to speak, Draco closed his textbook first.

"Flint, shut up," he raised his chin, "Professor Moody is going to lecture, and you can't even learn to be quiet?"

Flint stared at him.

Draco did not look away.

He had spoken much less this semester; the mud stains and smoke smell left behind by Lucius on the night of the Quidditch World Cup stuck in his throat like a thorn.

He didn't mention his father, nor did he allow others to test him using his father.

Moody paid no attention to the commotion among the students.

He picked up the third spider.

"The last one. Avada Kedavra."

Neville suddenly raised his head.

Hermione's face darkened, "Professor, you cannot use the Killing Curse in class."

"The Ministry of Magic permits it," Moody took out a heavily folded permit document from his pocket and slapped it onto the podium, "Dumbledore agrees as well. Any of the three Unforgivable Curses used on a person means a lifetime in Azkaban."

Harry stared at that spider.

He had seen green light in the graveyard and had seen how close death was to him in Quirrell's hands.

At this moment, as Moody's wand tip rose, his fingers unconsciously gripped his wand, his palm slick with sweat.

"Avada Kedavra."

The green light descended.

The spider overturned, its legs stiffened, and it moved no more.

No one spoke in the classroom.

Allen looked at the podium.

The trajectory of the Killing Curse was very straight, its initiation decisive, yet its reining-in possessed a trace more lingering hesitation than the first two times.

The fake Moody suppressed his power; he was unwilling to frighten the students of the entire classroom out of control, nor was he willing to let Dumbledore detect the magical details.

Yet the person casting the curse was still far too proficient.

This person had touched the Killing Curse.

And many times at that.

The class dismissal bell rang very abruptly.

Hermione was the first to pack up her things and supported Neville as they walked outside. When Neville reached the door, he looked back at the glass jar once, his lips trembling slightly.

Moody called out to him.

"Longbottom."

Neville froze in place.

"Come to my office this afternoon," Moody rummaged through a pile of old textbooks to find a thick book, "take it. An Herbology book; inside is something that can help your parents. Once the Mandrakes mature, St. Mungo's will find it useful."

Neville took the book, his eye sockets turning red.

He didn't say thank you, merely nodding before hugging the book and leaving in quick strides.

Hermione stopped outside the door and glanced back at Moody.

She still did not approve of the methods in class, yet she didn't say anything more either.

Allen lagged behind at the very end.

Moody's magical eye turned toward him, lingering longer than it had for other students.

That eye swept from his cuff to his collar, then paused at his wrist as if wanting to pierce through skin and flesh to clearly see what was hidden deeper within.

Inside the Portable Space, the void raised its head, the tip of its tail pressing against the ebony box.

Allen raised his eyes and locked gazes with Moody.

"Potter," Moody called out.

Draco's footsteps halted, and Nott's pen tip stopped as well.

"Professor."

"Were you asleep when the Dementors boarded the train?" Moody asked.

"Sleepy."

"A Boggart couldn't read your fear?"

"It lacks the ability."

Moody's normal eye narrowed, while his magical eye turned to the corner of the wall, making a full circle before falling back onto Allen.

"You're not the same as your cousin."

"My cousin always loves standing at the front."

"People at the front die fast."

"Then the Professor should teach him to hide."

Moody stared at him for two seconds, then suddenly let out a laugh.

That laughter got stuck in his throat, carrying the soft clinking sound of a flask cap colliding.

"Out you go."

Allen turned and left.

In the corridor, Draco lowered his voice: "He stared at you for a long time."

"He stares at everyone for a long time," Zabini caught up from behind, "Mad-Eye Moody's hobby is probably taking everyone apart to inspect them."

Nott flipped through his notebook, "Three spells, three castings. The Imperio was completely controlled, the duration of the Cruciatus Curse was fifteen seconds, and the Killing Curse was cleanly reined in. His proficiency with the Unforgivable Curses exceeds standard Auror training records."

Draco frowned, "Aurors catch Dark Wizards, so being somewhat proficient is normal."

"Proficiency and habit are different," Allen said.

Pansy caught up, heard the last sentence, and asked with a scrunched nose: "Are you guys talking about Moody again? It's only his first day here, he surely can't already have problems."

"He can," Zabini said, "the problems most likely arrived even earlier than the pumpkin juice at the welcome feast."

The few of them walked to the stairway landing, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were coming from the opposite side.

Harry's footsteps halted, his gaze landing on Allen.

"You kept looking at Professor Moody during class just now."

"You were looking at the spider too."

"I'm asking about Moody," Harry suppressed his anger, "when he used the Killing Curse, your expression didn't change at all."

"I've seen it before."

Harry's breath hitched.

Ron glanced at Hermione and didn't chime in anymore.

Hermione, however, stepped forward, "Allen, Professor Moody's class has issues, but perhaps he wants to make students understand danger. You can't treat someone as a Death Eater just because he is proficient at casting spells."

"I didn't say he was a Death Eater."

"But you're suspecting him."

"Suspecting is not against the law," Allen looked at the notebook in her hand, "writing it down is not against the law either. Just don't show it to people."

Hermione clutched the notebook tightly to her chest, "I'll check the teaching permit."

"Check public documents," Allen said, "don't check his office."

"Why do you always like drawing lines for me?"

"Because people who cross lines often don't live long."

Harry frowned, "You're cutting your words in half again."

Allen bypassed them and walked toward the Dungeon direction.

Draco glanced back at Harry, wanting to say something, but finally only dropped a single sentence: "Don't mention the Quidditch World Cup in front of Professors."

Harry's face grew gloomy.

Ron stared at Draco's back, "What madness is he acting out again?"

Hermione looked in the direction Allen left and whispered, "He mentioned the Quidditch World Cup, which means Professor Moody is related to the Quidditch World Cup."

Harry didn't answer.

He remembered the green light in the woods, the wand in Winky's hand, and also the unpleasant odor near Moody's flask at the welcome feast.

Inside the Dungeon, as soon as Allen sat down, the sound of the door knocker came from the knut.

"The Order of the Phoenix stakeout outside the ancestral home is still changing shifts. Round Hat didn't show up today. A gray owl feather fell on the study windowsill, and no one touched it."

"Note it down," Allen closed his eyes.

Nott flipped his notebook to a new page and wrote down the first entry of fourth year: "Professor Moody, Unforgivable Curses teaching. Spell-casting technique abnormal. Flask carried constantly."

Zabini leaned against the fireplace, "A flask counts as abnormal too?"

Allen recalled that sour-rotten scent from the welcome feast.

"Count it for now."

Inside the Portable Space, the void raised its silver pupils, the tip of its tail pressing against the ebony box.

The cracked pocket watch didn't light up again, yet the green light left behind in the classroom still pierced into Allen's judgment like a fine needle.

Mad-Eye Moody had entered Hogwarts.

Yet the person who entered might not truly be Moody.