"Spells come in many forms, each with its own unique power and effect."
Moody's voice was harsh, like steel scraping against stone—unpleasant to the ear—but because it belonged to him, Alastor Moody, that flaw wasn't a weakness. It didn't inspire fear.
After all, this was a man of legend—an elite Auror.
"According to Ministry regulations, before sixth year, I should be teaching you counter-spells, not showing you what illegal Dark Magic looks like. You're still too young, and you wouldn't be able to handle it."
That line immediately caught the attention of the Gryffindors, their veins practically pulsing with reckless energy.
Harry and his friends straightened up in their seats, puffing out their chests as if to prove that, even if they weren't sixth-years yet, they were more than ready to learn about Dark Magic.
"Don't underestimate us"—that was what their proud faces seemed to say.
Only Gryffindors, Draco thought, would have that kind of defiant spirit.
Moody, of course, knew exactly how to play on it.
Meanwhile, Draco's gaze had shifted elsewhere.
"That's…"
"Looks like a wine bottle," Pansy said. "But Draco, that's not strange, is it?"
"Normally, no. But when it's him holding it, that's what's off."
Draco's tone made Pansy frown. She glanced again at the curved glass bottle and couldn't help wondering—what was he seeing that she wasn't?
It was just a bottle, wasn't it? Just a man drinking during class?
Unlike Pansy, who preferred not to think too deeply when Draco was around, Hermione immediately understood what he meant.
"You're right. For him, it is strange."
"What are you two talking about?" Pansy asked, still lost.
With a sigh, Hermione reached down and pulled a book from her bag.
"Isn't it obvious? In Me, Auror, Invincible, it's stated that Aurors are strictly forbidden from drinking alcohol while on duty. And our Professor Alastor Moody just so happens to have been an Auror."
"Hermione's right," Draco added. "And based on what I've learned, someone as paranoid and cautious as him would never allow himself to get drunk... though there's one other possibility."
"Hmm… maybe that bottle doesn't actually hold alcohol."
Watching the two of them exchange thoughts so naturally, Pansy grew irritated—mostly because she had nothing to add. But even she couldn't find fault in what they said.
A man who tested his food for poison before every meal wouldn't risk clouding his judgment.
Much less by getting drunk…
...
Draco and his group were hard to miss.
Whether it was just an illusion or not, the moment Alastor Moody noticed their gaze, the hand holding that curved bottle seemed to pause for a fraction of a second.
Then, as if to deflect attention, he raised his voice and carried on as though nothing had happened.
"But Dumbledore spoke very highly of your courage. He believes you're capable of handling what's ahead. And in my opinion, the sooner you understand what you're up against, the better. After all, if you've never seen a thing, how can you possibly protect yourself from it?"
"If a Death Eater decides to cast an illegal curse on you, he won't announce his intentions. He won't be honest, fair, or polite about it. You must be prepared and stay alert. And finally—Miss Brown, I suggest you put that thing away while I'm speaking."
Lavender Brown jumped, her face turning bright red. She had been whispering under the table with Parvati about yesterday's Divination results.
But clearly, nothing escaped the sight of Moody's magical eye.
As he turned away, that same eye swiveled with eerie satisfaction at the young witch's startled reaction.
"Now then... how much do you all know about the Laceration Curse?"
Silence fell across the room. Then, as one, every student turned to look at Draco—who sat there, expressionless.
Their gazes carried a mix of curiosity, excitement, mockery, and unease.
By now, everyone knew that Draco had learned the Laceration Curse from Snape—and that he'd once used it to kill a full-grown mountain troll.
"Yes," Moody continued, his gravelly voice low and sharp. "We happen to have among us a student capable of casting such a dark and dangerous spell. Mr. Malfoy, would you please come forward?"
The sudden summons made Pansy and Hermione react at once. Both instinctively reached out, clutching at the hem of Draco's robes.
Anyone could tell—Moody's invitation wasn't praise. It wasn't curiosity. It was a trap.
He wasn't calling Draco up to commend him. He wanted to humiliate him.
Pretending not to notice the girls' reaction, Moody went on, his tone dripping with mock politeness.
"I'm sure Mr. Malfoy would be delighted to demonstrate why the Laceration Curse is classified as Dark Magic, wouldn't you?"
"After all, aside from Severus Snape, no other wizard alive knows that particular curse."
Dark magic this. Dark magic that.
His words painted Draco as some deranged wizard obsessed with forbidden arts.
Hermione's brows furrowed sharply. Even she—who could stay calm under Snape's cutting remarks—found herself bristling under Moody's deliberate provocation.
But the first to react wasn't Hermione. It was the ever-cool Pansy Parkinson.
"Since when did Hogwarts professors start ignoring Ministry regulations? Perhaps I should bring this up with the Board of Governors."
"..."
"Oh? I know you—the Malfoy family's most loyal ally. A true Parkinson—pureblood to the bone. It seems your lineage continues to cling to the same... mistakes."
The glow of that eerie blue eye made Pansy's stomach twist with unease, but she didn't back down. Remembering what had just happened moments ago, she straightened her posture, her icy expression unwavering as she met Moody's gaze head-on.
Just as Hermione began to rise, Draco's hand came down, large and firm, pressing both girls gently but decisively back into their seats.
"Draco?"
"What are you doing? Can't you see I—"
"Leave it to me."
"..."
"..."
A moment ago, both girls had been bristling like cornered cats, ready to strike. But with just a few quiet words and one calm gesture, Draco subdued them completely.
From a short distance away, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley both clenched their fists.
Whether it was Draco's composed, intimate demeanor that set them off—or the fact that he was now rising to face Moody—they didn't know.
But Draco, now stepping forward toward the front of the class, didn't spare them a single thought.
...
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