A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts - Chapter 433: A New Class on Dark Arts Defense

The next morning, Harry woke up groggily, feeling like he was sleepwalking, only to find himself seated in the classroom for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The room buzzed with chatter as students trickled in. Padma Patil and Lavender Brown entered hand in hand. When Padma caught sight of Harry, she shot him a fierce glare and loudly announced, “I made plans with Aidan to hang out next Hogsmeade weekend.”

Lavender, intrigued, asked, “The Beauxbatons boy you danced with at the ball?”

“That’s the one,” Padma proclaimed loudly, casting a haughty glance at Harry as they walked past.

Ever since the ball, she’d been distant with Harry, turning her head away whenever she saw him, leaving him with only a view of the back of her head. Harry wanted to ask Ron if he faced similar treatment, but realizing Padma was in a different house, he dropped the idea.

“You should’ve paid more attention to her at the ball. Now look… karma’s catching up,” Hermione muttered, hiding behind a hefty book.

“But she seemed to be having fun,” Harry stubbornly retorted.

He discreetly glanced back; Padma and Lavender were now settled in the last rows, chatting and laughing. He couldn’t discern anything unusual. Lavender pulled out a thick book from her bag, showing it to Padma with an air of mystery.

“I got this through owl order, it’s really fascinating…”

In the final moments before class, a distinctive voice echoed from outside the door:

“It’s called the Magic Phonograph, had it in the living room the day after it hit the market. When you listen to music, you see the Weird Sisters hovering above your head. Honestly, my mum isn’t a fan, finds them too loud… but for now, it’s the only option.”

Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, regretfully mentioned, entering the room. He scanned the room, feigning surprise when he saw Harry, “Hey, Potter! Didn’t sleep well last night? Or trying out a new smoky eye look?”

His two lackeys snickered, pointing at Harry’s dark circles.

Harry clenched his fists, Ron quickly restraining him. “Don’t lash out, Harry. He’s just itching for it! Just lightly touch him with your pinky, and he’ll have an excuse to explode…”

“Your courage has waned,” Draco drawled. He came closer, lowering his voice to a whisper as he addressed Harry, “I’ve learned a few more tricks over the break, Potter… nothing trivial. Found some notes in my grandfather’s place. Perhaps we could find a time to… experiment?”

“What do you mean?” Harry demanded, holding back his anger.

“Oh, I forgot,” Draco sneered, “your old home was reduced to rubble, no legacy left. Maybe you could ask your neighboring Weasley if their family didn’t sell off these items for a better life…”

“Do you want a duel, Malfoy?” Harry asked angrily, “Or are you planning to report to Filch under the guise of a duel, just like you did in first year? Are you capable of anything else but cowardice?”

Draco’s pale face reddened.

“We’ll settle this at the Dueling Club, Potter,” he retorted before hastily leaving.

Harry watched him leave, trembling with anger. “Ignore him, Harry,” Hermione lifted her head from a thick book, calmly saying, “This makes it the third time he’s provoked you recently. You know the reason.”

“He’s surely learned some powerful dark magic, Harry. You’ve got to be careful,” Ron added, equally incensed.

Harry’s rage was instantly doused. He knew the reason, especially after last week’s classes taught by Snape. In case of a conflict, it was evident whose side Snape would favor, making Draco Malfoy even more audacious.

Especially during the first class last week, Malfoy discreetly showed him a badge, regretfully informing Harry that he would’ve given one to every Slytherin student if his other badges hadn’t been confiscated. It was meant to signify their support for the true heroes of Hogwarts.

Thankfully, Neville’s consistent sensitivity to Snape’s aura had preemptively warned and diffused the danger, or he might have been punished and docked points.

The bell rang, students settled, awaiting the arrival of the cloak that was in constant motion. Then, they heard distinctive wooden thumps against the floor. Many Gryffindors eagerly widened their eyes.

“I never thought I’d find myself this eager to see Moody’s face,” Ron muttered, a sentiment Harry silently agreed with.

Moody appeared at the door, looking as terrifying and daunting as usual, yet many students emitted low cheers. He stood at the door, scanning the room with his rotating blue magical eye.

The classroom quickly fell silent.

Moody leaned on his cane, laboriously making his way to the platform, placing the cane along with a stack of parchment on the table. He drew his wand (earning a collective flinch from the students), gently waved it, and a register flew out from the drawer on the desk.

“You might have heard rumors. Last term, I was under someone’s control. An imposter disguised as me was teaching you,” Moody spoke hoarsely, and the classroom fell silent, having heard various versions of the rumor but unsure of the truth.

“They messed with my mind, made me think everything was normal. I stumbled through the term, barely aware, until the night of Christmas, when the Death Eaters’ plot concealed within the school was revealed, and before they left, they intended to dispose of me… I lay in bed, akin to a corpse, no reaction to the sounds in the room. It was only thanks to two students delaying that I didn’t die in my sleep, a death of no consequence…” Moody spoke softly, his gaze fixing on Harry and Ron, who found his face less intimidating.

“To heal me, your Professor Snape tried various methods. But… I’ve lost some memories. Hence, I’ve decided to reintroduce myself to all of you.”

He shook his head, clearing the gray, twisted hair from his scarred face, and began calling out names.

The room was engulfed in a solemn atmosphere as Moody went through the attendance. Each student whose name he called responded, and Moody, stationed behind the desk, scrutinized them one by one with his magical eye.

As the attendance concluded, Moody picked up his cane from the desk, limping around the classroom, his voice hoarse as he said:

“For the next few lessons, I’ll narrate my experiences over the past six months. It’s a good example. You seem to think that dark wizards are distant from you. But, in reality, you’ve spent nearly half a year in the company of an evil wizard who masqueraded as a reclusive, unsociable retired man—clever tactics! I’ll elaborate more on this. I’ll share every detail I remember without holding back.”

“All you need to do is ponder, why are you still alive?”

“Professor, what do you mean?” Lavender Brown exclaimed, astonished.

“I mean,” Moody gestured with his rough, large hand, his magical eye fixed on her, “take some time to ask yourself a question: a powerful dark wizard—for the past six months—could have easily aimed a wand at you and cast a killing curse. Yet here you all are, unscathed, isn’t that right, Miss Brown?”

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