Beta: Cloudy

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

I read the Daily Prophet with Tom the following morning at breakfast.

"The... Death Eaters fled after the Dark Mark was used?" Tom's voice was laced with disdain.

"Yes. The Death Eaters smart enough to avoid Azkaban dropped Lord Voldemort like garbage when he was defeated."

"That means that the dimwitted ones are in Azkaban?"

"Except Rookwood, who will either try to find Voldemort to revive him, or decided Voldemort wasn't worth the trouble and left him like the rest of the Death Eaters. Almost feel sorry for Voldemort. He either has to deal with followers who would abandon him at a moment's notice, or useless morons who can't do anything without him. Must be lonely."

"Yes," Tom repeated hollowly. "Lonely."

"Don't worry, Tom. I won't let Voldemort or Death Eaters hurt you," I assured him.

"What if I—What if I become a Dark Lord?"

"Depends. Are you torturing babies for shits and giggles?"

"No."

"Are you going to kill my family?"

"No."

"I don't see an issue here. Wait, you're not against my werewolf army now are you?"

"No, never."

"Then nothing would change. I'd be the same to you as I am now: your amazing best friend who adores you."

"Ah. We are best friends now, are we?"

"Yep. It's decided."

His magic moved as if he were chuckling, though he did not verbally respond.

"I'll be purchasing your textbooks at Diagon Alley today, both of you need to stay at home for the foreseeable future," Remus told us as he put on a cloak and headed to the floo. "You can visit the Weasley's though."

"Excellent. Going over to Ron's," Harry said, hopping up from his seat at breakfast.

"Don't buy my dress robes," I told Remus.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't dream of it. Do you want me to grab you a couple catalogs?"

"No, Daphne will send over some things."

"Daphne Greengrass?"

"Yes."

"Do you need more allowance money for it?" shrewdly asked Remus.

"Probably," I admitted. "I'll ask Paddy when he's up."

"Why do you need so much money for a dress?" Harry asked, perplexed.

I sighed. "You wouldn't understand."

"That's why I'm asking."

"Asking that is like asking why a bride wants to feel like the most important person at her wedding."

"But isn't it the groom's day too?"

"Ugh. Get out of here before I hex you."

Harry wisely held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Remus chuckled and took the floo to the Leaky Cauldron. Our network was set up as a one way to the public areas, so he'd have to Apparate back in. After I finished reading the paper I got comfortable on the living room floor and resumed training for my illegal animagus form.

I got an hour into the meditation to find my form (I was betting occamy, Tom was betting fox, and Kreacher bet mamba) when Hedwig gracefully flew into the living room and dropped a load of letters onto my lap.

"Thank you," I thanked her as she hooted and rested on her luxurious perch. Harry had purchased her a rather extravagant indoor mini house for her, similar to those over the top cat scratching posts. She was a very pampered owl.

Ah. There's Daphne's letter. Right on time, my dear.

"Tom? Would you do me a favor?" I asked him, as I pulled out the catalog Daphne had sent me with her weekly later.

"What?"

"Close your eyes and give me complete privacy for, oh, say, fifteen minutes?"

"May I ask why?"

"I'm picking out and likely doing small changes to my Yule dress. I don't want you to see it until I put it on myself. Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"I will give you privacy," Tom assured me.

I counted to fifteen before I opened the catalog and got to work.

I ended up needing to ask for another five minutes of privacy as I had to convince Sirius to buy the dress.

Threats may or may not have been involved in that conversation.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Returning to Hogwarts was a wet affair. It had been raining non stop the day of. Even with umbrellas, it didn't help much. Draco showed off a bit by conjuring a big enough umbrella for Daphne and me to share, which was nice, but it didn't stop our shoes from getting soaked.

When we entered the Great Hall and headed to our table Draco casually asked, "Everyone already knows about the Yule Ball, correct?"

"Yep," Theodore answered. "Father bought me several dress robes to coordinate with whoever I end up taking."

"Likewise," Draco said, nodding in approval.

"I ended up just purchasing a matching tie and ribbon. I'll give one of them to my date if anyone's brave enough to ask," I said dismissively.

"Regarding that—" Draco began, but he was interrupted by Pansy eagerly plopping down next to me at the table and squealing, "Did you get the dress Daphne picked out for you?"

"Very close to it," I said with a smile. "Small changes had to be made."

Daphne nodded approvingly. "Did you go with the suggestions I made?"

"I did, actually! When I take over the world I'll need your fashion tastes to make sure I look impressive during all my speeches."

Daphne giggled. "If you insist. Although it was Tracey who found the color."

"Impeccable tastes, both of you."

Draco cleared his throat, shifting closer to me. "So what color did you choose?"

"I can't say it out loud. My future date might overhear, and I would like him or her to be utterly astounded when he or she sees me."

Nothing could be said, though, as it was time for the Sorting and then time to eat.

Everyone had ravenous intent for several minutes. There was little chatter as people ate up what they could as quickly as possible. Only when the puddings had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, did Albus Dumbledore get to his feet. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

The Slytherins already nodded at such, no one in the House of Snakes had come to Hogwarts unprepared. That being said, many of the students in the other houses let out cries of indignation.

Dumbledore went on, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy—but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers' table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling.

Mad-Eye Moody.

Very likely Barty Crouch Jr disguised as Mad-Eye Moody.

Considering how I had witnessed the Power of Plot, and the Death Mark still happened, I'd bet all my galleons that it was Barty Crouch Jr.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."

No one applauded him.

I had no plans to stop the resurrection of Voldemort.

He was such a juicy bait to use.

Those that would stand in the way of my vision would scurry away. He'd release the Death Eaters I couldn't touch in Azkaban and give me an easy excuse to end them myself. He'd become a tool in my political movement and I'd use him to shove Fudge out of office and take those Dark seats with him.

In one fell swoop I'd get rid of everyone... all thanks to the lovely little bait Voldemort made.

Well.

And I kinda had to acknowledge that the Power of Plot was hard to deal with. Better to take advantage of the situation out of my control than waste energy fighting against it.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar—"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

"Er—but maybe this is not the time... no," said Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament... well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities—until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

"The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their shortlisted contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

At every House table people were either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age—that is to say, seventeen years or older—will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This," Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words,"is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion."

His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over some of the mutinous faces of the younger students. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen. The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.

"Age restriction or not," I loudly told my babeh snakes, "I'm getting in. And I am going to be picked."

"You wish to participate in the tournament?"

"Yep. I'm going to win it."

Tom was silent for a couple of minutes before he quietly said, "You very well might."

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

(Extra - Harry)

Harry Potter listened carefully to Dumbledore's explanation for the Triwizard Cup. It sounded daring, dashing, and dangerous. He had read a stupendous amount of story arcs involving tournaments. He hadn't expected to see such a fantasy coming to life before his very eyes.

Not that it spurred any great desire of his. Harry used to dream of being the hero to his own story, but he had come to appreciate the serenity found in his normal day-to-day life.

Normal at Hogwarts, at least.

Home, he had learned after attending Hogwarts, was not normal. 

Largely thanks to his godfather and twin sister.

Mostly his twin sister.

90% of it because of his twin sister.

Not many brothers had sisters who habitually snuck out at night when their guardian slept, or knew how to build EMPs, or was alarmingly comfortable with certain spells, or could build and dismantle several dozen traps in a matter of minutes.

Well, Harry supposed the Weasley twins could match her in some of that regard. But the ginger twins always had a warmth to their antics. None of it could be gleaned as malicious, or mean-spirited.

Rosie—

If Harry had to define his sister in a story, she'd be the morally ambiguous side character who could provide the hero with all manner of items—so long as the hero didn't question how she got them.

Harry loved his sister, and he found her chaos endearing in its own way, but he'd much rather stay on the sidelines and enjoy watching her than get caught up in her... schemes.

Sirius got caught up in her schemes once.

Once.

She only needed one successful scheme to end the prank war for the retired marauder. Those little back and forth pranks were merely the warm up to the bomb she had waiting for him.

"... And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.

"They can't do that!" said George Weasley, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"

"They're not stopping me entering," said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"

"Yeah," said Ron, a faraway look on his face. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons..."

"Come on," said Hermione, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament. Harry and Hermione lingered behind for another moment, scanning the hall for Neville.

They hadn't seen their other friend for a while. He sat with them on the train, but had to use the restroom before the feast and they hadn't seen him since. Normally Neville knew better than to drink on the train, but Harry had brought some special hot chocolate in a thermos Remus made for him and he wanted to share with his friends.

Neville would make a good hero, thought Harry. Neville was shy, but he had undergone a steady character growth. No longer did the Longbottom heir cower behind Harry and Hermione, he stood proudly beside them. Neville had a soft, calm, and steady way of speaking that reminded Harry of Remus.

Neville had certainly gained more muscle than Harry, too. Harry and Rosie shared a similarly small build—no matter how much they exercised or ate, they wouldn't bulk up. It made it easier for Harry as a seeker, but he certainly fell short of the hero archetype.

Neville had grown taller already, though, and had nice and broad shoulders.

Yes. Harry thought Neville would make an excellent hero. Harry would be great at supporting the hero. He could give out friendly advice and be moral support.

Hermione and Harry didn't spot Neville though, and were forced to march on.

"Who'd be the impartial judge anyway?" absently asked Harry as he kept looking for his friend.

"Dunno," said Fred, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George."

"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," said Ron.

"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" said Fred shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."

"People have died, though!" said Hermione in a worried voice as they walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.

"Yeah," said Fred airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get 'round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"

"What d'you reckon?" Ron asked Harry. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older...  Dunno if we've learned enough."

"Hard pass on my end," said Harry to Hermione's approving nod. "Maybe if we knew what the tasks were beforehand and could prepare."

"Kinda defeat the purpose yeah? Supposed to be brave about it," said George.

Hermione snorted derisively. "It's not cowardly to want to be prepared."

"That's common sense," agreed Harry. "Anyway, I don't see anyone getting past Dumbledore—er—"

Harry had a sudden surge of concern. He couldn't quite explain it, but he had an unmistakable desire to snatch up Rosie and take them both back home.

I really hope my twin senses are off, he thought. Uncle Moony will kill her.

They made their way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said as they approached.

"Balderdash," said George, "a prefect downstairs told me."

The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which they all climbed. A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables.

Surprisingly, Neville was in one of those armchairs, dazed and staring at the flames.

Hermione was the first at his side. "Neville, where did you go?"

"I—I got lost," he said to no one's surprise.

A good hero always has a terrible sense of direction, thought Harry as he smiled at his friend. Another mark against Harry being a hero because Harry had an excellent sense of direction. It was why he was such a fantastic Seeker. That and pure talent.

"Only you could still get lost at Hogwarts," chuckled Harry. "C'mon, let's get to bed."

"I found someone," whispered Neville. "I think I'm in love."

"Oh dear," said Hermione. "Are you okay, Neville? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"She sang to me," said Neville. "About herbs."

"A mystery girl who sings about plants," said George with both of his eyebrows raised up.

"What a catch," deadpanned Fred.

Harry and Hermione placed their hands on either side of Neville's cheeks. He didn't feel feverish, but—

Neville's cheeks flushed. "Shut it. I—I may not—or maybe—I—maybe not love, but—er—did I miss anything at the feast?"

Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "A bit mate, come on."

Ron and Harry filled Neville in on what happened at the feast as they climbed up the spiral staircase to their dorms. Neville was astonished about such an event happening, but he was quick to say he wouldn't be trying it out himself.

He said as he climbed into bed, "I know Gran would want me to, but I don't think I could survive something that dangerous."

"I might go in for it, you know," Ron said sleepily through the darkness, "if Fred and George find out how to... the tournament... you never know, do you?"

"S'pose not," allowed Harry. "Don't think you should, though."

"Swear Hermione should be your other twin..."

Harry tried to picture Hermione staying with them over the summer and witnessing the antics Rosie got up to.

No way would Hermione keep quiet about Rosie sneaking out.

That was Harry's secret to keep, along with all the other little things she shared with him over the years. All the times she sung to him in her off-key voice when he had a bad dream, or took the blame for when he broke things, or when she stayed up late taking care of a hungover Sirius, or how she sometimes talked to herself when she thought no one was around, or how she complained about unicorns but lovingly kept every single one given to her.

Harry even knew the names she'd given some of them.

They were secrets for Harry to keep.

"Nah," he said, thinking fondly of his sister. It brought a sleepy smile to his face as he laid in bed and closed his eyes. "Rosie will always be my favorite."

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

(Rosie)

Classes were as lovely as last year, except for Hagrid's class.

Last year we got to see all sorts of charming creatures like hippogriffs, griffins, manticores, and an assortment of smaller creatures that Hagrid had found out in the forest. He had mentioned he hoped to get a hold of a couple chimeras to add. His classes had rapidly become a favorite for many students because of the animals he procured—none of them were dull. He was building quite the menagerie outside his hut, too.

The Slytherins made the trek out to the class, Iris darting about between the students as she stretched her wings. All the babeh snakes were fond of Iris, offering her treats and head scratches when able.

As we neared the scent of rotting fish assaulted our noses. I reflexively wrinkled up my nose, wondering what was causing such a thing until I saw the crates.

Oh, no. I forgot about those things.

The Blasted-End Skewets.

"Ew," I whispered as I saw the hideously squishy monstrosity. A cross between a centipede, scorpions, and manticore. Ugh. All fleshy squishy yuckiness with too many legs flailing around. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

I covered the lower half of my face, cringing as I stared at them.

Human cadavers I could work with fine and dandy. There was a neatness to human anatomy. The things that squirmed in those crates were nothing but grotesque. They could have been a product of Lovecraft with how hideous they were.

Ugh, scratch that. Cthulhu was probably cuter than those things.

I pulled Draco in front of me to shield that hideous view.

"On'y jus' hatched," said Hagrid proudly, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"

"And why would we want to raise them?" asked Draco coldly, placing a consoling arm around me.

Hagrid looked stumped at the question.

"I mean, what do they do?" pressed a disgusted Draco. "What is the point of them?"

Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds' pause, then he said roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things—I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer—I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake—just try 'em out with a bit of each."

It was a testament to how much Harry, Neville, and Hermione liked Hagrid as the three were the first students to try and offer frog liver to the babies.

Even though the babies didn't even have heads, let alone mouths.

"Those are literally the single most disgusting things I have ever seen," Tom told me.

"I don't wanna look at them, let alone feed them. Ew, ew, ew."

I buried my face into Draco's shoulder, not wanting to look at those nasty things. Draco patted my back, and I could feel a couple of my other babeh snakes pat me too.

"Ouch!" yelled Dean Thomas after about ten minutes. "It got me!"

Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious.

"Its end exploded!" said Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.

"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," said Hagrid, nodding.

"Eurgh!" said Lavender Brown again. "Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?"

"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," said Hagrid enthusiastically (Lavender quickly withdrew her hand from the box). "I reckon they're the males.... The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies.... I think they might be ter suck blood."

"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," snarked Draco. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"

The Slytherins were thoroughly disgusted and none of them wanted to try to feed them. Scrounging up what courage I had, I swallowed back my breakfast and stepped away from my shield to approach Hagrid.

"Professor Hagrid, would it be possible to, ah..." I struggled to come up with something. "Oh! Would it be possible to go see the hippogriffs again? As a, uh, refresher of course. We have O.W.L.s next year, you know."

"Oh, yes, we definitely want to be prepared for that," Theodore quickly stepped in agreeably.

"Well... s'pose it wouldn't 'urt," Hagrid said after a moment, struggling not to grin at being called professor. He always loved it when a student called him professor.

The Slytherins and a handful of Gryffindors fled the gross mess and made a dash toward the hippogriff pen.

The next notable class was Defense Against the Dark Arts with Barty Crouch Jr posing as Mad-Eye Moody.

I took a seat up front with Daphne. The DADA class hadn't changed much since Remus set it up last year.

"You can put those away," Mad-Eye growled, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, "those books. You won't need them."

The Slytherins that had taken out their books began to put them away.

Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.

"Right then," he said, when the last person had declared themselves present, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures—you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"

There was a general murmur of assent.

"But you're behind—very behind—on dealing with curses," said Moody. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark Arts. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you counter curses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to keep your familiar out of my classroom, Miss Potter."

Iris trilled in offense before leaving my pocket and flying out of the room.

"So... do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by Wizarding law?"

Several hands rose up. Moody gestured to Blaise who said, "Imperius."

"That's one."  Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, "Imperio!"

The spider leapt from Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backward and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a backflip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance.

Everyone was laughing except Moody and myself.

Easy date rape, I thought, a ghost of a memory from my past life unwillingly whispering to me. My first night shadowing happened to land when another uni was having their spring break. The look in their eyes—

My hands curled into fists.

"Think it's funny, do you?" he growled. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?"

The laughter died away almost instantly.

"Total control," said Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats... "Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," said Moody, his gaze fixated on an uncomfortable Draco. "Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will.

"The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, and everyone jumped.

Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar.

"Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"

Hands went up. Moody called on Theodore who said, "Cruciatus."

"The Cruciatus Curse," said Moody. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he said, pointing his wand at the spider. "Engorgio!"

The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula.

Moody raised his wand again, pointed it at the spider, and muttered, "Crucio!"

At once, the spider's legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. Crouch as Moody tortured it for another minute, the Slytherins watching with uncomfortable apathy.

Moody raised his wand. The spider's legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch.

"Reducio," Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar. "Pain," said Moody softly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse.... That one was very popular once too. "Right... does anyone know any others?"

Hands were raised, and he called on Draco who said, "Avada Kedavra."

"Ah," said Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. "Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra... the Killing Curse."

He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he trapped it, and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.

"Avada Kedavra!" Moody roared.

There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air—instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead.

Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.

"Not nice," he said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no magical shield to block it. Only two known people have ever survived it, and one is sitting right in front of me."

No, I thought.

The curse never hit me, after all. It hit Lily who had jumped in front of us.

I looked away from the dead spider, the image of Lily's corpse lingering in my head.

"Avada Kedavra is a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it—you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it.

"Now, if there's no countercurse, why am I showing you? Because you've got to know. You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roared, and the whole class jumped again.

"Now... those three curses—Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus—are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills... copy this down—"

The snakes were silent as they did so.

Honestly, after a class like that, spending the evening reading medical textbooks and explaining human anatomy to Tom was as delightful as curling up with Harry on the couch at home and binge eating a tub of ice cream with him.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Bucket List Completed:

47. Get a really pretty dress for the Yule Ball.

ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

A few Harry scenes will be sprinkled throughout the story from year 4 and on.

Answer: Yeehaw. It started as ironic. And then it stopped being ironic.

Question: What would be a delightful evening for you (fantasy world or this world)?

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