If anyone had been standing outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom at that moment, they would have noticed the loud crash that had just echoed within—and then the uncanny silence that followed immediately after.
On the platform, lingering motes of magic shimmered faintly in the air. Draco and Alastor Moody stood face-to-face, robes still stirring from the energy between them, wands raised but motionless.
They didn't look like teacher and student anymore. They looked like two knights from an ancient duel, locked in silent challenge.
Below them, the students sat frozen.
None of them had expected things to escalate this far—or rather, none had thought Draco would actually dare to take things this far.
Mouths hung open, breath caught in throats. No one dared to speak, afraid even the smallest sound might break the fragile tension and send everything spiraling out of control.
Even the usually loud Gryffindors realized this had gone far beyond what any of them could handle.
As for Pansy and the others close to Draco, their worry was raw and simple. They weren't thinking about pride or politics—they just wanted him to be safe.
Draco himself, standing under every watchful gaze, could not have guessed the impact of what he'd just done.
Compared to Harry Potter, his constant rival, or the Weasley twins, his occasional adversaries, Alastor Moody was in another league entirely. In both status and power, he outweighed them all—and facing him made Draco's defiance seem all the more striking.
Even the students who'd always opposed him—especially those from Gryffindor—found themselves uneasy.
The young witches in red and gold, their gazes fixed on Draco's back, couldn't help but waver. A few, unable to hide their emotions, even glanced toward Hermione with unmistakable envy.
Even if he might be a Death Eater…
The tension below didn't reach the stage.
Moody's magical eye never stopped moving, whirring restlessly as it studied every inch of Draco.
Draco's gray eyes, faintly glimmering with gold, stayed locked on Moody's.
They seemed to communicate wordlessly—no sound, no movement, just silent defiance between them, as if their earlier clash had never happened.
The faint, shifting glow at the tips of their wands made it impossible to tell what either man intended.
The standoff lasted until Moody, at last, seemed to remember his role as a professor. Slowly, he lowered his wand and broke the silence.
"Stealth. Lethality. And... malice. Our Mr. Malfoy has just provided an excellent demonstration of what the Laceration Curse truly is."
As a collective sigh of relief spread through the room, Moody reached into his robes, pulled out his curved flask, and took a long swig.
He didn't look remotely bothered by the fact that his own student had just attacked him.
"You've all seen it now," he said, voice low and gravelly. "The danger of this curse. Had it hit me instead of this lectern, no ordinary healing magic would have been able to mend the damage."
He flicked his wand, and before their eyes, the lectern—split cleanly in two moments ago—repaired itself in seconds.
"Of course," he added dryly, "inanimate objects don't require counter-curses."
A collective shudder passed through the class.
Even Harry Potter, who'd faced dragons and Dementors, instinctively looked away when Draco's eyes swept past.
Because no one in that room believed their body could withstand what that lectern hadn't.
And none of them were entirely sure—if it came to it—whether Draco Malfoy would bother to cast the counter-curse at all.
"And next, I demonstrated how I defend myself. As long as you have quick enough reflexes and stay alert, the simple, easy-to-learn Shield Charm is the best spell for countering most forms of dark magic."
"Oh, I see!"
"The Shield Charm? I didn't know it was that effective!"
"If I could use it like Professor Moody, maybe I could become an Auror too!"
With his earlier "demonstration" still fresh in everyone's minds, Moody's words carried far more conviction—though clearly not for the Slytherins.
"What's with you lot? Did I say something wrong?"
"Well…" Pansy spoke up after a pause. "Strictly speaking, no. But if the Shield Charm were really that effective, dark magic wouldn't be called dark magic in the first place."
Her comment made Hermione blink in surprise.
In truth, Moody's statement had sounded fine on the surface, but it was far from as easy as he'd made it seem.
To use the Shield Charm well enough to block true dark magic required an exceptional level of mastery.
And that, in turn, spoke volumes about Alastor Moody's own skill with the Shield Charm...
...
Meanwhile, Draco still hadn't lowered his guard. The excited chatter around him was little more than noise in his ears as he kept his cold gaze fixed on Moody. The hostility coming from the man hadn't faded—it lingered, sharp and deliberate. Draco wasn't foolish enough to turn his back on him.
Only later did he finally understand why Moody's killing intent hadn't disappeared.
...
"So then," Moody's gravelly voice cut through the quiet, "aside from the Laceration Curse, what other forms of dark magic do you know?"
"The three Unforgivable Curses!" someone—Ron Weasley—blurted.
"Very good, Mr. Weasley," Moody said, his lip curling slightly. "That's exactly what we'll discuss next—the three spells banned by the Ministry of Magic."
The moment he spoke, the temperature in the classroom seemed to plummet. A chill spread through the air, and several students shifted uneasily in their seats, glancing at Moody's unsmiling face.
Whether it was imagination or not, the man standing before them suddenly felt terrifying.
"First," Moody went on, "the Imperius Curse. Back in the day, this spell caused the Ministry no small amount of trouble. It allows complete control over another wizard's body and mind. For example—make them jump off a building, drown themselves... or kill someone else."
"..."
His voice was low and rasping, the tone almost mocking. Combined with that rolling magical eye, spinning unnervingly toward the back of his head every few seconds, it was enough to freeze the room.
The young wizards sat rigid in their seats. A few of the more timid ones had even started to sniffle quietly.
"Total control of the target—that is the Imperius Curse," Moody growled. "Like this...Imperio!"
"Ahhhh!"
"How dare you!"
"Draco!!!"
A streak of sickly green light cut through the air.
That color—grim, venomous, unmistakable.
It was the hue that defined nearly all dark magic.
And the curse streaking toward Draco shone that same dreadful green.
Sinister.
Malevolent.
And utterly evil...