This was a rather interesting setup.
Apart from the rather gigantic classroom, with the intense subject chosen for the day's lecture, it was the presence of the authority figures inside the room that made everyone feel uneasy. Albus Dumbledore, renowned as the greatest wizard of the times, stood in one corner, in his usual purple robes with faint silver embroidery, and his half-moon spectacles watching the entire class with profound interest. However, he was hardly the cause behind the unease among the students.
In reality, it was really the four ladies standing close to him that were the real subject of interest. Nymphadora Tonks, Auror, stood right next to him, her askew robes and pink hair a striking contrast to the somber tones of the others. Despite her youth, there was a quiet intensity in her gaze, as she tried so hard not to look in my general direction.
Amelia, Emmeline, and Hestia, had far more success in that avenue.
Of course, Emmeline and Amelia were perfectionists in the art of stoicism, but it looked like Hestia was catching on quickly. All three women were dressed in deep, charcoal-gray robes, tailored to fit snugly around their respective frames, with Amelia's having a silver trim to highlight her position of importance. Beneath the robe, a fitted waistcoat of midnight blue with discreet silver buttons could be seen, complete with the high collar secured by a pin that bore the seal of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
"UNFORGIVABLES!" bellowed Alastor Moody in front of the entire class. In response, nearly half the class jumped slightly. 'Today's special session, witnessed by your Headmaster, and the DMLE staff will be the Unforgivable curses — what they are, what they do, and why they are called Unforgivables, and if you little swots can get past the morbid details without throwing your intestines out, then we shall proceed to learning how to counter them."
Moody's infamous eye swiveled disconcertingly, sweeping across the students, lingering on each face just long enough to make them squirm. Just like before, it ended up with a long glance at me, before settling on a trembling fourth-year in the front row.
"We call them Unforgivables for a reason," said Moody. "The three curses are the only ones for which just a proven use is grounds for an automatic life sentence in Azkaban. Doesn't matter the circumstances, or the person's position in society. Cast them, and you'll have Aurors coming to pick you up."
I suppressed the urge to look at Draco. Tonks on the other hand, was staring intently at the former Malfoy with undisguised furor.
"'Now, can anyone here tell me what the three Unforgivables are?"
Justin Finch-Fletchley raised his arm shakingly.
"Yes?"
"The Killing curse, the cruciatus curse… and the imperius curse."
"Correct. Two points to Hufflepuff," said Moody. "Now, there are thousands of spells that the British Ministry of Magic classifies as the Dark Arts, spells that can be used to hurt and torture people, but it is only the three curses that are classified as Unforgivables. Any ideas why?"
This time Parkinson raised her hand.
"Yes?"
""Because they can't be used without an evil intent in mind?"
"Too simplistic," said Moody. 'The unforgivables are not merely spells. They are profound manifestations of magic's darkest potential. They represent the extremes of control, pain and death, each curse embodying a fundamental and immutable aspect of power. So immutable, that the curses cannot be amplified, or mutated using any suffixes whatsoever. In fact, the Department of Mysteries even has had Unspeakables working on fashioning new additions to the Unforgivables, over centuries, but to no effect. The Unforgivables are, and have been limited to those three, as Finch-Fletchley claimed — the Killing Curse, the Cruciatus Curse and the Imperius Curse."
He looked at the dead silent audience.
"In short, they represent the extreme other end of the spectrum. The final chapter of the Dark Arts. Unlike any other spell in existence, none of the three require any specific wandwork, and instead, tap directly into the caster's innermost desires, making them both deceptively simple and profoundly dangerous. To wield them is to become a force of destruction, an agent of chaos that bends the laws of magic and humanity to their will. Despite centuries of research, there exists no spell, no potion and no ritual that can counter the effects of any of the Unforgivable curses, and neither can you cast one by mistake. That is the dark truth that makes them unforgivable. And to learn how to defend against them, we need to understand exactly what they are from the very core. That. is what this class will be about. If there is anyone here that feels it is too intense for them, feel free to leave right now. But if you do, I'd advise you to drop this subject post your OWLs because things will simply get far, far worse."
I noted the way Tonks's sharp eyes darted between Moody and Draco Mal… Rosier, her expression a mixture of concern and hostility. Despite her determination to remain focussed, her fidgeting hands and darting eyes betrayed her discomfort.
Moody let a lul build in the class for a long second. When no one voiced their objections, Moody continued.
"The origins of the Unforgivable curses are believed to predate structured spellwork, arising from primal incantations used by the earliest sorcerers to impose their will onto the world. These incantations were not tools of creation or defence, but rather weapons of pure dominance, crafted in a time when survival often depended on unrelenting force. As languages changed, so did their names over time, but their functions remained the same. The earliest iterations of their latinized names comes from the Codex of Thaumaturgic Extremis, drafted sometime in the early 700 BC."
There was a certain amount of frantic scrabbling, as students began to write that in their notebooks.
"No," said Moody. "Don't bother writing down how long witches and wizards have had these unforgivables in circulation. No such pointless question will count towards your marks in any of my lessons."
Many students sat straight up at that, looking rather shocked.
"I told you," said Moody in his usual gruff demeanor. "I expect you to fight for ten minutes without losing your head, not write ten inches on fighting."
Damn. I know this world is technically different from the books, but I had never expected Alastor Moody to turn out like this.
He flicked his wand, and one of the three glass orbs that stood on the desk all this while rose into the air. It hovered before the class, spinning gently, emitting an eerie, greenish light.
"Avada Kedavra," Moody said, his voice flat and uncompromising. "The Killing curse. The first, and perhaps the most infamous of the three Unforgivables."
The orb flared violently, emitting a pulse that bathed the entire class in a shade of deathly green that made several students gasp and recoil.
"You have heard the stories. Seen the headlines. Maybe some of you even think you're brave enough to face it. Let me tell you something." He leaned forward, his face illuminated by the green glow.
"You're not."
Amelia cleared her throat softly, an almost imperceptible reminder to Moody to temper his delivery. He glanced at her but pressed on, his tone not softening in the least.
"Early texts from the Tombs of Natharka describe rituals of death-magic practiced by shadowy priests who sought to wield this force not just as a weapon but as a statement of divine authority. The incantation Avada Kedavra is derived from a forgotten magical tongue, roughly translating to 'let this thing be destroyed.' The words are not mere syllables; they are an invocation of primal magic, a command that bypasses all defenses to erase the target from existence."
I took careful note of the students. Several of them sat frozen, some horrified, and others morbidly curious. A few scribbled notes nervously, while others just sat rigidly, gripping their desks as though the floor might vanish beneath them. I noted the way Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.
"You feel that fear, don't you? That shiver down your nape? That eerie feeling of despair, of helplessness, of facing a powerful predator while you are injured and cornered… that is the feeling that the killing curse has, when cast on someone. Philosophers claim that the fear originates from your own soul, realising that this power can sunder it."
Moody let the class digest that.
"The killing curse operates on the principles of absolute magical finality. Unlike other spells, it does not rely on physical force, mental manipulation or magical intricacy. It is death, raw and unadorned, channeled through the caster's intent. You get hit, you die. There is only one exception to that fact, and he's sitting in front of all of us."
Both of his eyes, as well as every single eye in the entire room converged at me. The original Harry Potter would have probably felt conscious and attempted to hide away, but I didn't care. I knew perfectly well what laid behind my apparent immunity to the killing curse, and I wasn't about to experiment on that little trivia for a classroom presentation.
Then Moody looked away and continued. "Apart from Potter, the basic philosophy is pretty much the same for us fellow mortals — life is fleeting, and ultimately meaningless in the face of power. To wield the Avada Kedavra is to reject the sanctity of life, to embrace death as a tool and a truth and —"
Hermione raised her hand.
"Yes?"
"You said that casting the curse is to reject the sanctity of life. But I've read that the Death Eaters in the past war, and even those arrested in the recent attack cast the killing curse. But they also have families." She paused, looking around carefully at the annoyed glances she was getting. "I mean…"
"That is a thoughtful question. Five points to Gryffindor," said Moody, turning to the rest of the class. "It is true. Death-Eaters also have families. People they love. Husbands. Wives. Children. Parents. The answer to that question comes down to that very line you pointed out, girl. Rejection of the sanctity of life. The harsh truth is, any person that can successfully cast the killing curse is not truly capable of love. Lust, perhaps. Anger, Envy, Vengeance, Hatred… all such feelings they can feel. But they cannot truly love someone. The moment there is someone, anyone, that they would be unable to cast the killing curse at, it defeats the entire mindset of rejecting the sanctity of life. If you don't have that, you cannot cast the killing curse. For instance —"
He whipped his wand at me and yelled —
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Only I wasn't sitting there any more. I was already moving, launching a burst of raw energy out of my wand to protect myself. If Harry Potter could fight off the killing curse with an Expelliarmus, there was no reason why a burst of raw energy wouldn't be able to do the same. The burst of energy travelled in a straight line and met the killing curse's trajectory —
—And was pointedly ignored.
The killing curse hit me head-on, straight in the chest. I didn't know what was happening, and I didn't want to die. Acting on instinct, I just did what came to me first.
I blasted a tremendous amount of raw force straight at Moody.
The handicapped Auror instantly conjured a Protego to absorb my attack. Only he had massively miscalculated the force behind my response. His shield flared an angry red, before shattering, blasting him against the wall.
Instantly the entire classroom was in an uproar, and all hit-wizards had their wands ready. Even Amelia had her wand out, but instead of attacking, she was staring at me with a mix of concern and surprise. Emmeline and Hestia had theirs raised out and aimed at Moody.
Everyone except for Albus Dumbledore and Nymphadora Tonks.
After what felt like a fiftieth heartbeat within the same second, I realized that I wasn't quite dead. Hermione rushed at me, looking at me with a mix of shock, surprise, blind horror and elation to discover that I was in fact, untouched and most miraculously, alive.
The same couldn't be said about Moody though. The man had hit his back against the wall and had slumped down to the floor, unmoving.
"Alastor," barked Amelia at last, her voice full of scorn. "Get up! You are only embarrassing yourself by trying to play half-dead."
Right then, the electric eye snapped open, dancing madly, and a grin spread on that twisted, half-paralyzed face.
"Hah!" said Moody. "That was a good one, Potter! Ten… no, twenty points to Gryffindor! For quick reflexes and having the right spirit of a hit-wizard. Even if you're dying, don't let the bastard that killed you survive to see another day."
With a speed that was deceptively fast for a cripple, Alastor Moody got up on his legs, and wandlessly summoned his wand that had rolled away somewhere.
Only I wasn't playing anymore. I had my wand aimed at the crazy Auror's head, my heart still running a marathon every goddamn second. I… I suppose I knew that the horcrux would give me a free pass against the killing curse, but I wanted to hold on to that insurance for as long as possible.
'At ease, Potter. That was just me demonstrating something."
'Demonstrating? You cast the killing curse at me!"
"And you survived."
I tightened my grip on the wand. That Amelia had still to react only kept me from firing one of the ten increasingly dark curses that were running on the forefront of my mind right then. Curses Without End was furious, and wanted to curse Moody to Oblivion, as well as every single person that did nothing while the madman had the gall to cast that bloody Unforgivable at me.
"Mr. Potter," said Amelia, her voice clipped and professional. "I understand the sudden scare but even that served a purpose."
Despite her demeanor, I noted the stiffness in her posture. Professional or not, seeing Moody strike me with the Killing curse must have shook her from inside. That she was still holding back was a testament to her own Occlumency.
The same couldn't be said about Emmeline or Hestia though.
"Miss Jones, Madam Vance," said Albus Dumbledore slowly, the right amount of sternness mixed in his tone. "Please. Put the wand down. Alastor wasn't attempting to kill young Harry there."
"And what if he was?" demanded Hestia angrily, her eyes blazing. "How are you so certain that he wasn't? What if he was some imposter parading around as Moody and here to kill Harry?"
Then she realised that she had in fact spoken a bit too much and held back.
"An imposter," said Dumbledore. "That's a surprisingly paranoid theory. Why would you think that, Miss Jones?"
And right then I realised what was going on. This…. This was a setup.
"She's speaking based on what I've shared with her, Professor," I said out loud. Hermione's eyes went wide, and even Hestia looked a little anxious at my sudden outburst. She was probably fearing I might give away my true identity.
She really needed to expect better of me.
"Excuse me?" asked Albus Dumbledore.
"No you are not excused, Headmaster. A Defence professor, one that you hired, had the gall to strike me with the killing curse. In front of the entire fourth-year's lot of students, the DMLE Director, her assistant, the Head Obliviator, and an entire host of Hit-wizards nonetheless. So no, you are not excused."
My vicious riposte smacked the old man's face, wiping out that tranquil expression.
"My boy —"
"My name," I said. "—is Harry Potter. Kindly use it. And before you ever so subtly attempt to chastise Miss Jones over her claims, kindly remember everything that I have faced over the last three years at Hogwarts. Perhaps the Press should hear about it."
"Such crudeness is beneath you, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore, his grandfatherly facade still there, albeit barely.
"Is it?" I asked. "Is that why the DMLE Director's arrival gets flunked with half a dozen hit-wizards, yet Hogwarts, which is hosting the prestigious Triwizard tournament and will house three schools and paparazzi for an entire year, gets to have a sorry pair of Aurors at best?"
"Mr. Potter," chastised Amelia in an almost bored tone. "It would be best if you kept your position in mind when you speak. Only the Headmaster has the right to adjust the security for Hogwarts."
That she simultaneously and wordlessly chastised Albus Dumbledore in the same sentence by acknowledging my statement wasn't missed by anyone.
"I'm merely stating my opinion after being openly attacked in the middle of the class, I paused and turned to Moody. "With all due respect, Professor, the previous three Defence instructors have been a stuttering possessed victim, an obliviating fraud, and a werewolf that was careless enough to forget his wolfsbane on a full moon night. I have complete respect for you and your teaching methods, but it's really the mantle you hold that has a terrible track-record."
If anything, Moody's grin went wider. That I had just openly insulted the Headmaster's hiring capability in front of such a distinguished audience didn't even matter to him.
Huh. Maybe there is more to his Mad-Eye epithet.
"Your concern is noted," said Amelia. "I will order an independent investigation about the issues faced by Hogwarts students over the past three years."
I didn't miss that shadow of a smile that floated on her lips as she finished that sentence.
"Is that truly necessary, Amelia?"
"I had raised my concerns about this entire subject of instruction, Albus," said Amelia sharply. "As well as the instructor. Alastor has been one of the best combat instructors the Ministry of Magic has ever appointed. However, teaching Aurors and teaching children are too different things. Frankly, if not for Alastor's role as the security advisor for the period of the tournament, I'd be in favour of replacing him with another."
"Alastor has my fullest confidence, Amelia."
"Good. Because if there is another incident that smears Britain's foreign policy in front of the entourage, your name will be there on the chargesheet."
"I understand," said Dumbledore, frowning. "With that done, shall we continue this session?"
All six pairs of eyes stared at me.
"Uh," I said, taken aback. "I suppose."
"Good," said Moody, once again walking up to the center of the class. "With all that diplomatic crap taken care of, perhaps we can return to the question at hand. As you all saw, I cast the killing curse at Potter. It struck him in the chest. But instead of being dead as a doornail, he's awake, up and angry. Any guesses on what happened?"
Seamus stood up. "He's the Boy-Who-Lived. The killing curse doesn't work on him."
Lavender snorted. "Are you telling me Harry's immortal?"
I winced. Lavender was walking a fine line there.
"No, just that the killing curse doesn't do nothing on him. He's the Boy-Who-Lived."
Moody snorted. "It's possible that Potter might just be, as… What's your name, boy?"
"Finnegan. Seamus Finnegan."
"—As Finnegan told us, Potter is simply immune to the curse. Any other ideas?"
"You didn't cast it properly," said Hermione.
"Oh come on," said Sue Li. "You saw it. He even said the incantation, and it requires no wand movement."
"But that's not all," Hermione argued. "Remember that part about mindset? Sanctity of life?"
Moody barked out another laugh. "Sharp, that one is. Take five points. Indeed, the rejection of the sanctity of life. I have, as an Auror, fought hundreds of criminals and dark wizards, apprehended, and at times of need, even killed in the line of duty. But I have yet to lose my respect for the sanctity of life. And so, I cannot cast the killing curse. One that works, anyway."
"Then… Why didn't my magic stop it?" I couldn't help but ask.
"Because Potter, there was no magic in it. Nothing. Nada. Just a beam of green light. Your magic didn't find anything to resist. Speaking of, good thinking there. A concentrated burst of magic would do just fine to thwart the killing curse, assuming you could place it exactly on its path. Fair warning, though. The killing curse is known as one of the fastest spells out there for a reason."
"An unblockable, unstoppable curse that needs no wand movements and travels in a straight line at high-speed and works every time on something alive," I droned. "Sounds like the perfect tool for a psychopath."
"And now we know why the darkest of wizards used it as their trademark spell," finished Moody. "You cannot, and I will repeat that, you cannot rationalize casting the killing curse as necessary. In fact, the more you cast it, the more you risk fracturing your emotional depth and desensitize yourself to the value of life, and by extension, love."
As he spoke those words, I felt Dumbledore's eyes at me. I intently ignored him.
"What about hate?" asked Daphne of all people.
"No dice," said Moody. "Hate is love inverted. You might hate someone enough to kill them, and that hate is useful in fueling a whole range of dark spells. That said, if you truly hate someone, you could probably kill them off with a first-year spell. Back in the last war, one of the Death Eaters — Camilla Rowle, was fond of making stupid jokes, and then making her victims laugh. Endlessly. They would laugh and laugh and laugh until they died."
He let the class absorb that little fact.
"Not hate, not righteous indignation, not even vengeance is enough for a person to cast a killing curse. It is believed that back in the last war, Lord You-Know-Who made his followers cast it before inducting them into his Inner Circle. It is said that You-Know-Who's Mastery of the curse was so great that he could supposedly nail someone with it from half a mile away. To cast the Killing Curse is to embrace a truth as old as magic itself - life exists at the mercy of power. The caster does not bargain, torment, or control—they simply end. In that moment, the wielder of Avada Kedavra becomes the ultimate authority, the final arbiter, a being who decides the boundary between existence and oblivion."
He paused, if only for a moment.
"Do you understand why being able to cast it would be termed unforgivable? Do you now see why a person capable of casting an unforgivable is never worth a second chance?"
The look on Albus Dumbledore's face was a delight to watch.
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